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Full text of "Select English poems : with Gaelic translations, arranged on opposite pages : also, several pieces of original Gaelic poetry"

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We will always feel grateful to Dr Norman M'Leod of St. Co- 
lumba Church, and to the many warm-hearted and accomplish- 
ed gentlemen, who have so ably assisted him in preparing the 
useful Miscellanies which have been circulated from time to time 
among the Highlanders. The good these publications have been 
the means of doing is incalculable. They have, however, ceased 
to cu-culate for many years past ; and unfortunately, HigUand- 
ers now have no means of holding that intercourse of which 
they are so fond, in their own vernacular. These periodicals are 
now out of print, and in all probability the next generation will 
not know anything about them but the name. It often occurred 
to us that a Selection from the poetical efiusions, both original 
and translated, given in these periodicals, would be found inter- 
esting : and besides, that such a compilation would serve as a 
Remembrancer of these Miscellanies, in the absence of anything 
more substantial being put on record. It also occurred to us that 
if it were possible to find out the English originals and to print 
them along with the translations on parallel pages it would make 
such a publication more interesting still. We have set about this 
task sometime ago, and what follows is the result. If our read- 
ers will derive as much satisfaction from perusing this volume 
as we had from compiling it, they will be sufiiciently rewarded. 
We cannot describe the pleasm-e and instruction we derived from 
coning over these translations and comparing them with their 
originals. Many of the pieces are associated in our mind with the 
very dawn of our mental improvement — with the time when we 
began to appreciate literature of any kind. It is interesting to 
observe the taste displayed by the various translators ; not only 
in the execution of their work, but also in their selection of ori- 

giuals. We trust that the reader will kindly overlook the want 
of arrangement, or classification of subjects, which could not be 
attended to under the circumstances, as the matter was put in 
type when the original of any of the pieces would cast up. Con- 
sequently, many superior pieces that would, under other circum- 
stances, be among the first, are here among the last. However, 
if a second Edition shall be called for these deficiencies, with 
many other overlooks, will be put to right. 

We have much pleasure in acknowledging the readiness with 
which all the gentlemen to whom we have applied for informa- 
tion, regarding either originals or translations, have responded 
to our request. To Dr C. R. M'Gillivray we offer our special 
thanks for his efficient assistance in putting the work through 
the press. 

If this undertaking wiil meet with an ordinary degree of suc- 
cess, our readers may look, at some future period, for a second 
volume. We trust, therefore, that those of them who have ability 
for translating, and the good of their countrymen at heart, will 
keep this in mind, and forward their pieces to the Publisher at 
their earliest convenience : they will see by this publication the 
description of pieces we wish. We believe that such compila- 
tions will be of gi-eat benefit to Highland youths, both in forming 
their taste and in enriching their mind. So far as poetry is con- 
cerned we have no need to draw upon the resources of any other 
nation, for we have abundance of good, original poetry ; yet, in 
consequence of the universal sway of the English language, any 
publication that will help to open up the vast resources of its 
literature, will be interesting to those who are acquiring a know- 
ledge of it. Moreover, poetical translations are peculiarly suited 
to develope the rich treasures of our own language ; for a trans- 
lator must exercise his mind to find terms that will convey the 
meaning of the original, and will also agree in sound with their 
correspondents. Consequently, w^ords that are totally overlooked 
by Gfplic prose writers are, as a matter of necessity, used by 
translators of poetry. 



Translator Page 

The Messiah 


E. M'Lachlan 


The Church, 

Dr M'Gillvray 

Dr N. M'Leod 


The Covenanter's Dream, . 


J. Clerk 


Against Avarice, 

St Columba P) 

A. M'Padyen 






Caste and Christ, 

Mrs Stowe 

D. M'Dougall 


The Slave Market, 


A. M'Fadyen 


The Murdered Slave, 




The Broken Heart Healed, 




The Hymn of Cleanthes, 

A. M'Fadyen 


The Forty-fifth Psalm Paraphrased 

Rev A. Macintyre 32 

Echo's Answer, 




The Field Flowers, . 


J. Clerk 


Duart Castle, 

Dr J.M'Leod 

Dr N. M'Leod 


My Mother, 

Ann Taylor 



Alexander Selkirk, 


J. Clerk 


Destruction of the Assyrians, 






Dr N. M-Leod 


Sabbath Morning, . 




The Sabbath, 


E. M'Lachlan 


The Voice of Divine Compassion, 





Dr N. M'Leod 

P. M'Naughton 


Tlie Golden Age, 


Rev A. Macintyre 58 

The Beggar's Petition, 




Afar in the Desert. 


R. M'Dougall 


The Cuckoo, 


Dr N. M Leod 


Burial of Sir John Moore, . 








The Mariners of England. . 


Rev A. Macintyr 


Adam and Eve, 


Lachlan M'Lean 


Exile of Erin, 




Bruce's Address, 


Rev A. Macintyre 


Elegy on Mrs M'Kinnon, Fort-Augu 

stus, Anonymous 



The Mercies of God, 




The Heavenly Canaan, 


A. M'Fadyen 


The Bible 




The Hundredth Psalm, Long Metr 

Rev A. Macintyi 

e 84 

Hypocrisy, . . . . 




(1) This Poem was translated into English from the Latin of St Columba, by 
the late Dr John Smith of Campbelton. 





Human Life. 


D. M'DougaU 


Paradise Lost, 


E. M'Lean 


The Ruins of Babylon,' 

A. M'Fadyen 


David's Lamentation over Saul, &C 

. Rev J. AV. Wright Rev A. Macintyre 98 

Confidence in God, 


J. M'DougaU' 


Spring, . , . . 


J. Clerk 


African Hospitality, 

Mungo Parli 

Dr N. M'Leod 


The Star of Bethlehem, 

Henry K. White 



The Fountain Opened, , 


D. MD.,Tiree 


Where is Happiness ? 

Bishop Heber 

Dr N. M'Leod 


The Providence of God, 




Begone Unbelief, 




Abolition of West Indian Slavery, 

Mrs Garret 

Rev J. Sinclair 


My Father 's at the Helm, 


Dr N-. M'Leod 


Cradle Hymn, 


James Munro 


The Goodness of God, 

Jane Taylor 

John Munro 


The Farmer, 




The Resurrection, 


Dr J. Smith 


Christ's Kingdom, 




The Saviour, 




The Song of Moses, 



The Hour of Death. 


Rev A. Clerk 


The Islander's Guiding Star. 

Di- J. M'Leod 

T. Pattison 


Zion Comforte<i under her Afllictio 

as, Grant 



Christ Stilling the Tempest, 


Rev J. Sinclair 


Paul's Voyage to Rome, 


J. Clerk 


Mackrimmon's Lament, 


Sir Walter Scot 


Dream— a Fragment 






Trust in God, 

Dr John 

M'Leod 141 







Where is Misery? 



The Highlander in a Forei 

gn Land, Dr N. M'Leod 144 

Expatriation of Ilighlande 

rs. Rev D.M 'Lean 345 

The Sabbath Bell, 



The Rainbow, 



The Bible, 




Dr N. M'Leod 151 

Certificate to an aged High 

lander, Do 


The Shortness of Human I 

.ife. Do 


The Hot Wells of Carlsba 

i, - Do 


Hymn in praise of the Crc 

ator. Rev A. Macintyre 155 

Tlie Birth of Christ, 

Anonymous 15G 






Te nymphs of Solyma ! begin the song. 
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong, 
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades, 
The dreams of Pindus, and the Aonian maids, 
Delight no more — thou my Toice insph-e, 
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire I 

Rapt into future times, the bard begun, 
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a son ! 
From Jesse's root behold a brancii arise. 
Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies, 
The Holy Spirit o'er its leaves shall move. 
And on its top descends the mystic dove. 
Ye heav'ns from high the dewy nectar pour, 
And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r ! 
The sick and weak, the healing plant shall aid, 
From storms a shelter, and fi-om heat a shade. 
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail, 
Returning justice lift aloft her scale ; 
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend. 
And white rob'd innocence from heaven descend. 

Swift fly the years, and rise the expected mom ! 
Oh spring to light, auspicious, Babe be born ! 
See! nature hastes, her earliest wreaths to bring, 
With all the incense of the breathing spring ! 
See lofty Lebanon his head advance. 
See nodding foi'ests on the mountains dance : 
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise ! 
And Carmcl's flow'rv top perfumes the skies. 
Hark ! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers : 
Prepare the way! a God, a God appears ; 
A God, a God ! the vocal hills reply. 
The rocks proclaim th' approaching deity. 
Lo earth receives him from the bending skies ; 
Sink down ye mountains, and ye vallies rise ; 
With heads declin'd ye cedars homage pay ; 
]?e smooth ye rocks, ye rapid floods give way ! 
The Saviour conies ! by ancient bards foretold : 
Hear him ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold ; 
Ho from thick films shall puige the visual ray, 
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day. 
'Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear, 
And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear ; 
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego. 


A nighneanan Shaleim ! tionnsgnaibh oran reidh, 
'S na puinuc is àirde gluaisear dan nan speur, 
Na fuaraiu bhlair, fo sgàil nan gorm-choill iir, 
'S na bruadair Ghreugach, theich gu leir fo'r cùl. 
A Righ thug Cciil do'a Fhaidhe ghleusadh ceòil ! 
Le eibhleig naoimli, cuir blàtlis an laoidh mo bheoil. 

Mu linn na slainte sheinn am Bard ochian ; 
Bidh Mac aig Oigh — aig Oigh is torrach siol ; 
O fhreumhaich lesse faic le teas a' fas 
A suas san speur a' Gheug is cùbhraidh blàth ! 
Bidh Spiorad Tie 'g a ghluasad lein m'a barr ; 
'S an dos ueo-slieargta tearnaidh Calaman Nèamh. 
Silibh a neoil an dealt o'n àird gu dlùth, 
Trom-shàmhach, maoth-bhog, frasach, braonach, ciùin! 
'S ann duibhs' tha an-f hann, tiun, gun ncart, gun treoir, 
A bhrùchdas driùchd na slaint' air bharr gach meoir ; 
Le tamh fo 'sgàil gu bràth cha loisg a' ghrian, 
'S o stoirm nan gaoth ni'm fasgadh caomh 'ur dion. 
Treigidh an t olc, 'sgach ceilg a lot an sluagh, 
'S air slighe 'pheacaidh coisnidh ceartas buaidh ; 
Bidh Oilibh ghràis na siochaimh sinnt' a mach, 
'S thig neo-cliiont àigh o nèamh san dels' is àiUe dreach. 

A linntean fada siubhiaibh seach gu laath ! 
Grad eireadh tiamh na maidne 'uios o'n chuan. 
A bheir gu crich do bhreith-sa — Rigli nan slògli. 
O ! Leinibh uasail ! diiisg a suas gu d' ghlòir ; 
Faic Nadurfein, 'sgach flùr an ceud am fais 
Fo chomhdach eibhinn ! mil a' seideadh tlath ! 
Faic Lebanon gu h-àrd mar thog e cheann, 
'S gach dos-chrann àrd 's na coilltibh àigh a' danns' — 
Faic smùidreadh spisridh Sharoin suas 's na neoil, 
A's Charmeil ur nan send is di-ùchdach ceò ! 
Nach cluinn thu luath-ghair ait san f hàsach chèin, 
Thig Dia, thig Dia g'ar coir ! gach rod biodh reidh ! 
Thig Dia, thig Dia I co-fhreagraidh fuaim nam beanni 
Gach creag ni gàir m'an Ti is ilirde t' ann I 
Tha'n saoghal ag eiridh ; lùb an speur a nios, 
Gach ni le gràdh 'cur failt air teachd an Triath I 
Na seudair riomhach cromaidh sios an ceann I 
Fodha na sleibhtean ! eireadh làr nan glyann ! 
Gach creag biodh min ! biodh sith air thuiltibh luath 
Roimh sholus gnùise Slauuighir chiùin nam buadh ! 
Faiceadh na doill !,a bhodhair cluinn do Dhia ! 
Sud Righ nan gràs mar sheinn na Baird o chian ; 

And leap exulting like the bounding roe ; 

No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shaJl hear ; 

From every face, he wipes off every tear. 

In adamantine chains shall death be bound, 

And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. 

As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, 
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air ; 
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs, 
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects, 
The tender lambs he raises in his arms, 
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms : 
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage. 
The promised Father of the future age. 
l^Jo more shall nation against nation rise. 
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes. 
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er, 
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ; 
But useless lances into scythes shnll bend, 
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end. 
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son 
Shall finish what his short liv'd sire begun ; 
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield. 
And the same hand that sowed, shall reap the field. 
The swain in barren deserts with surprise 
Sees hlies spring, and sudden verdure rise; 
And starts amidst the thirsty wilds to hear 
New falls of water murmuring in his ear. 
On rifted rocks, the dragons' late abodes, 
The green reed trembles,and the bulrush nods 
Waste sandy vallies, once perplex'd with thorn, 
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn: 
To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed. 
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed. 
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead. 
And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead. 
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet. 
And harmless serpents lick the pilgi-im's feet. 
The smiling infant in his hand shall take 
The crested basilisk and speckled snake; 
Pleas'd the green lustre of their scales survey, 
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play. 

Else crowned with light, imperial Salem rise'. 
Exalt thy tovvery head, and lilt thine eyes : 
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn; 
See future sons and daughters yet unborn; 
In crowding ranks on ev'ry side arise. 
Demanding life, impatient for the skies ! 
See bai'barous nations at thy gates attend. 

Fògraidh e 'n oidhfhe dhuibhreach o jra-h sùil, 

A's chi na doiU a' Ghiian is boiUsgeil iùl ; 

Grad fhosglaidh fhaea! toll ua oLiisueaclul suas ; 

'S o cho-sheirm ciùil thig tolas ùr do'n ohlaais. 

Bidh teang' a' lialbhain deas a dhealbh uan rann, 

'S mar mliaug iian stùchd gu'u leuiii au ciùbach mail. 

Cha chluinnear èubh na osiiaicli chràidh bì's mò, 

'S o ghruaidh gacli crentair suathar deur a' bhiòin ; 

An geimhlibh praise glaisear suas ain bàs, 

'S gheibh prionns' au t-sluichd an lot nach dùin gu bràth. 

Mar bhiathas Aodhair feumail ti-eud nan rùsg 
'Sna lòin is fèarr tha iài fo'n bhlath-ghaoitli chiùin, 
Shireas le sùl-bheachd dùrachd na th'air chall, 
'S a ghleidheas each o thriall roi' ràidean càni ; 
'N uair bhrùchdas sgàil an dorcha 'se ni'n dion, 
'S an taic san là, ged chaochlas ài-dan shion ; 
Thogas na h-uain na 'uchd g'an cumail blàth, 
Toirt doibh gu caomh nam fann-lus maoth o laimh ; 
Mar sud ni Ti nau gràs a ghealladh dhuinn 
Ar dion gu bi-àth le àithn' is gràsmhor iìil. 
Cha ghluais na slòigh ni's mò gu comhrag arm ; 
'S na gaisgich threuu cha chath ri chèil' am feirg ; 
Co-ghàir uan trompaid plirais cha chluinnear ann; 
An t-sleagh no chruaidh cha bhoisg an stri nan lann ; 
Cromar gu speala feòir an gath guu fhoum, 
'Sgii sochd a' chroinn bidh ruinn a' chlaidhimh ghèir. 
Grad-èiridh aitribh nasal suas 's gach lìr, 
'S na thionnsgdin athaii- bheir am mac gu crìch. 
Sgaoilidh an fhìonain àrd a dosrach gheug 
Fo iomlan blàth mar sgàil do'n t-sliochd 'na dheigh : 
Na lamhan fial a sgap an siol san f honn, 
Gu'm buain an t-arbhar sguabach, reachd'or, tròm ; 
A's chi na buachaillean gach cruaidh dhruim fàis 
Ur-bhog le fèur, 's le liligh 's ceutach bàrr. 
Le loghnadh èibhinn èisdidh iad ri toirm 
An uisge 'steallraich feadh nan craim-chreag garbh. 
Mu nead na nathrach bàis bu ehràitich beum, 
Tha chuilc air chrith, 's an luachair thric na dèigh. 
'S a' ghleann bha 'fàs fo bhàrr do'n sgitheach dhoiibh 
Tha 'm bocsa grinn 's an giuthas sniomhain, gorm. 
An àite chuiseag sheasg, a's luibhean searbh, 
Ni 'miortal fàs, 's am pailm is àillidh dealbli. 
Bidh iarmad sgrios a' mhadaidh-allaidh ghairg, 
'S na h-uain 'nam measg ag ith' air slios gach leirg : 
Caillidh an Tiger guineach, ciùrach 'l'hearg, 
■'S an srein nam flìir do chloinn cha diùlt e falbh : 
Ni'n damh 's an leomhauu aig aon phrasaich tàmh, 
*S bidh naith'r gun bheum ri cois fir-chèilidh tlàth. 

Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend ; 

See thy bright altai's throng'd with prostrate kings, 

And heap'd with products of Saba;an springs ! 

For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, 

And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow. 

See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display, 

And break upon thee in a flood of day ! 

No more the rising sun shall gild the mom, 

Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her silver horn, 

But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays, 

One tide of glory — one unclouded blaze, 

O'erflow thy courts : the Light Himself shall shine 

Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine ! 

The seas shall waste — the s-kies in smoke decay. 

Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ;' 

]^ut fix'd his word, his saving pow'r remains. 

Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah i-eigns. 


" Many a time have they afflicted me from my ynuth, yet tliej have not 
prevailed against me."— Ps. cxxix. 2. 

Nor shall they prevail! let them vaunt as they will, 
For thy Saviour is great in the midst of thee still ; 
And though despots to hate and to hurt thee may dare, 
Thou art safe from their malice, but let tliem beware ! 

• This excellent Poem was composed by Or W. M'Gilvray, now 
of Aberdeen, and appeared in the •' Scottisli Guardian" of 13th 
March, 1840. In June followin.<r, a Gaelic tvaslation of it appear- 
ed in the pa^es of the " Mountain Visitor," and in 1H45 another 
translation was given in the "Gaelic Witness." In order to en- 
able our readers to judge of their respective merits we give them 
both. The following is from the "Gaelic Witness."' — 

Cheart aindeoin a bhbilich, cha soirbhich le d' namh, 

Oir is treun e, 'm fear-còmhnaidh tha a' d' niheadhou a' tàmhj 

l.àn.thearuinl' tha thusa o i'liolachd 's o f huath, — 

Tha agad-sa cùl-taic an latha do cbruais. 

Air di-chuinihn' na lei^-sa na laithean o chian, 
'S'n uair chaisgeadh do nùimhdean, hba aingealta, dian; 
Jii seasmhach, bi gramail, oir cuunairt ma th' ann, 
Cha dhuit-se fath eagail, ach do d' eascaraid dull. 

Ort shaltair an Eiphit gu h-eucoireach, cruaidh ; 
Ach dliiol i na fiachan gu It'ir 'sa' Mliuir Ruaidh, — 
iS'a cuantan a dh'f hosgail dhuits' coscheuin tju tràigh, 
Bhrùchd — thaom iad le dosgunn, 's gun phlosg feuch do namh. 

Togaidh an leanaban ciche 'bheisd o'n làr, 

'S i bheithir bhreac a chleachd an ruinn-ghath bàis ; 

Le gàir thoil-inntinn chi e lith nan lann, 

'S m'an teangaidh ghobhkiich cluichidh an tog gun f heall. 

A Bhan-righ Shaleim ! ardaich gloir do chrùin ! 
Am Mòrachd t-uaiJse tog a suas do shùil ! 
A'd' chùirtibh riofrhail seall na milte slòigb, 
'Sna h-àil nach d'thainig, 'saill leo teachd a'd' choir! 
Tha linn air linn a' tair2,s' am breith gun dàil, 
Gun f husgais gus am faic iad soills' an la ; 
An sliochd gun chunntas seall tu 'dùsgadli suas, 
Thoirt niodh do'n Ribhinn àigh is àillidh snuagh ! 
Gabh beachd air feachd nan rioghachd fad o lainih, 
Air ghlùinibh lùbt' ag ùrnuigh 'd' theampull àigh ! 
'S na ceudan righ a' tuiteam sios gu dlùth, 
'S gu'n diol iad iobairt cheart do Thi nan dul ! 
Nach seall thu 'n luchd th'air t-altairean gun smal, 
Do'n spiosraidh phriseil thig o'n àird-an-Ear ! 
Tha dosraich Edom dhuits' a' seideadh blàth, 
'S do dhearg an òir tha sleibhtean Ophir Ian. 
Seall ! Geata boisgeil rionnagach nan speur 
A' fosgladh suas ort ! sud a' ghloir nach treig ! 
'S a' mhaduinn chiùin ni's mo cha dealraich grian, 
'S cha'n eiricli gealach sheimh fo sgàil nan nial ; 
Grad bhruchdaidh tuiltean soillse 'nuas o'n àird ; 
Ldn-dealraidh sruth na gloir a'd' chviirt gach tràth ! 
Mud' thimchioll dearsaidh àird an t-Soluis Fhein; 
'S gu saoghal nan saoghal gur leatsa la do Dhe ! 
Ni'n f hairge triall, '5 an iarmalt theid 'na smùid ; 
Gun leagh na sleibhtean as mar clieir roi' 'Ghnùis ; 
Na creagan siorruidh tuitidh sios 'nan ùir ; 
Ach seasaidh firinn dhileas High nan dul ! 
Riaghlaidh tu fein 's Mesiah 'u eibhneas neamh, 
'S air gloir 'ur rioghachd ni'm faicear crioch gu bràth. 


" Bu trie a cliraidh iad mi o m' oige, gidheadh cha d' thug iad buaidh. 
Salm cxxis. 2. 

'S cha bhuadhaich a chaoidh ; a dh 'aindeoin an uaill, 
Air do thaobhsa tha losa, ceannard nam buadh: 
Ged a dh' eireadh gach nàmhaid, ag iarraidh do sgrios. 
Tha thu tearuint' o'n gamhias — 's ann doibhsan is raios'. 


ReraemlDer thy struffeles — remember thy strength : 
What foe ever touched thee and triumphed at length ? 
Stand fast then, and fear not, if peril there be. 
The peril is theirs Mho fight against thee. 

Proud Pharaoh oppressed thee, and what did he reap ? 
A cofi&nless grave in the heart of the deep ! 
The sea \rhich fell back to aflfordthee a path, 
Rushed down on the head of that vessel of Avrath ! 

False Canaan oppressed thee ; and what did she gain ? 
Her fields were made fat vvith the blood of her slain ; — 
While they that escaped from the edge of her sword, 
Like Cain were pnrsued by the curse of the Lord ! 

The Assyrian oppressed thee ; and how did he speed ? 
His monarchs were doomed with the cattle to feed. 
His land was invaded, his empire cast down, 
And the Persian made prize of his kingdom and crown ! 

Chlaoidh Cùnan thu taiuull, 'sdba b'aithreach ^u'n d' rinn; 
Oir thuit e, le 'mbacaibh, fo d' shleagh a"s fo d' lainn ; 
•S a'ehuid nach do thuit diubb fo chudthrom do bbeum', 
Dhian-ruaigeadh gun stad iad fo mballacbd do Dhe. 

Rinn Asiria ort fòirneart.'s bu pbbracb sud dha, 

Oir spirinneadli d' agbloir e, 's d' a mbòr-cbuis, cbion-fa; 

A dhùtliaicb thur-clireacbadh— db' eug a mbacnus 's a mbùirn, 

*S mar a dhuais ghlac am Persach a bbeartas 's a cbrùn. 

Dhian lean thu an t-Iùdbacb, an run do chur sios 

Ged rugadh e d' cbùirtibh, 's god 's tu thug dlia ciocb; 

'S naeb soilleir 's na truaighibh tba 'g a ruagadb gun tàmh, 

Gu 'n d' thug Flaitheanas fuath do ghmomii uabbair a làuih. 

Rinn an Geintileacb dnilleir,'s ùrd sgoileir na Greig' 
Ort an f bòirneart bu sboilleir' dol an co-bboinn a cbeil'; 
*S gu b-obuun am mor chuis 's an gloir dbealaicb uath', 
Ged b' inbbeacb an ùirde, toirt burr air gacb sluagh, 

Dh'iadh umad a liontan baobb strinpach na Ròimb', 
A's dhùisg i dhuit mirun mbòr righrean a"s sblogh;' 
Ho tbearinunn b' e 'm fàsacb 'n am d' amhgbair 's do stri, 
() nùimhdeas an drùgoin bha ghnàth air do tbi. 

A cuinng bbàrr do mhuineil do tbilg thu gu lùr, 

As rùisg thu dbitb 'n f balluing a dlrfbolaicb a nàir; — 

A srannraich na cuireadh ort eagal no fianib, 

Tha a ceann air a bbruthadb, 's a cumbacbd air trial!. 

Mo thruaigbe gur fior e ! an tir so an iiigh, 
Gu 'n d' f buaireas luchd mi ruin rinn stri riut gun bhàigh; 
Rinn g.'drdean luchd fòirneirt do leonadb gu cruaidh, — 
T' f huil chraobbach a dhòrtadb, gun sòradh, gun truas. 


Cuimhnich thusa do chomhstri, cum cuimhn' air do threò-ir, 
Co'n nàmhaid a bhuail thu 's a bhuadhaich fa-dheòidh ? 
Bi daÌDgeaim gua eagal, oir gàbhadh no bròn, 
Thig sin air an cinn-san tha 'g iarraidh do leon. 

Lean Pharaoh le 'shluagh thu, ach ciod i a dhuais? 
Ann am buillsgein ua fairge f huaii- iadsan an uaigh ; 
Sgoilt an cuau air do shon-s' agus sheas airgach/aimh, 
Ach mar bhras-bhuinne geamhraidh bhrist sios air do naimh . 

Rinn muinntir Chanàain do leireadh gu truagh, 
Ach dhioghail iad fèin air an aimhleas gu luath ; 
Fo f haobhar a' chlaidlieimh thuit miltean san àr, 
'S lean mallachd o Dhia iad, a sheachain am bàs. 

Chlaoidh an t-Asirianach thusa gu geur, 
Ach thuit an cuid righrean gu ithe do'n f heur ; 
Thug Cyrus an coroin 's am morachd an sas, 
Le claidheamh a's teine an riogh'chd chair e fas. 

Feadh gharbhlach an t-sleibhe 's air reidhlein nam beann, 
Chaidb l' iomain 's do ruagadh gu cruaidh a's gu teann; 
'S trie a tharruing thu 'n osnadh 's an t slochd ' s anns a' chùil, 
'S trie bu bhriste do chridhe, 's bu shnidheach do shùil. 

Achj dh'fhiosraich la saors' thu, a's faothaehadh f huair 
As shiabadh 'n deur-chraidh a bba blàth air do ghruaidh j 
'S do naimhdean bha 'n cumhachd 's an urram ro-mhor, 
Thur-chrion agus sheae iad,a"s cbreachadh d'an gloir. 

Cia nise fàth t' eagal; gach aon gheilt cuir air chùl; 
Leig do thaic air a' ghairdtau iha a' taradh dhuit dlùth ; 
An aghaidh an Ard-Iligli eo a dh'ardaich a chri — 
Nach do lotadh gu bas e, an arach na stri ? 

Gad iadh umad naimhdean tha aingealta, treun, 
Ged 's alluidb an sealladh, ged "s eangarra 'm beam ; 
Na caill-sa do nihisneach, oir is sgeul e tha hor, 
Buaidhlùrach cha choisinn iad ortsa gu sior. 

Ged bheucadh na cuantan is gruamaiche colg, 

'S do eharraig ged bhuail iad gu fuaimeanta, borb ; 

Air an ais 'n uair a shileas 's a philleas iad sios, 

Tha do charraig-sa seasmhach, — 's bidh seasmhaeh gu sior. 

Oigh Shioin, glae misneach, 's na diobair do Thriath ; 

'S e 'f hocal do shohis, — a dhilseachd do sgiath ; — 

Do bhabhuinn cha tuislich, 's eha tuit iad gu lar, 

'S a chaoidh bbeir iad diiblilan do chumhaehd gaeh namh. 

Theid neamh agus talamh tur thairis le eheil', 
'S luchdriaghlaidh a's riaghailtean talmhaidh gu leir 
Aeh beannachd no soehair a gheall e dhuit riamh, 
Cha diobair, ach coimhlionaidh, 'u l^ighearn do Dhia. 


The Jews they oppressed theo : with jealousy fired 
Thine own foster-children against thee consjiired ;. 
And the vengeance tliat followed their treacherous crime 
Remains yet unmatched in the annals of time. 

The Gentiles oppressed thee ; the lloman. the Greek, 
Combined to destroy thee when thou wast hut weak ; 
And though foremost in faino, and unrivalled in power, 
Their glory departed from that very hour ! 

The monster that mocked thee, the Harlot of Rome ; 
That dared thy pure name, and thy rights to assume ; 
Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, stole into thy fold ; 
And filled it with horrors and murders untold. 

But the struggling prey from her death-grasp was torn ; 
She was stripped of her mask 'mid the world's hizzing scorn ; 
And the rage of her heart, though it rankle unhlushed ; 
Never fear, for the head of the serpent is crushed ! 

Alas! in the land where thy God is well known, 
"Where the light of his truth has for centuries shone ; 
Even there has the arm of oppression been raised. 
And the fires of affliction around thee have blazed. 

Thro' the moors and the mountains thy children -were chased, 

By bigoted tyrants thy gates were laid waste. 

The dungeon re-echoed tliy lonely complaints. 

And the scalTuld was red with the blood of thy saints. 

But thy woes were avenged ; for the fatuous race 
Of princes that wronged thee, with scorn and disgrace. 
Were dethroned and cast forth from the soil of their birth. 
And their seed has been swept from the face of the earth ! 

Why fearest thou then ? M-hat hast thou to dread ? 
Thus preserved by the might of thy glorious Hoad : — 
Canst thou think of one foe that against thee has striven, 
But has perished beneath the just vengeance of heaven ! 

Still apostates will rage, and rulers will plot 
To compass thy downfall, yet tremble thou not : 
Afflictions and bonds they may on theo entail, 
But against thee they will not, they cannot prevail ! 

The surges may rise, and may burst with a shock. 
They may roll o'er the head of the deep-rooted rock : 
But when they fall back from their swell and their roar, 
The rock stands as firm as they found it before ! 

Great Daughter of Zion, stand true to thy Lord ! 
Look up for His grace, and walk close by His word ; 


Rinn na h-Iudhaich orl ainneart le boile gun chiall, 
'S do mhic eadhon, dh' èiiich a'd' aghaidh le foill ; 
Ach tha 'm mallachd a thaiuig a nuas air an cinn, 
A' seasamh gun choimeas au eaclidraidh gach limi; 

Dh' iarr na Cinnich do mhilleadh le foirneart an làirah', 
Luchd-àitich na Greige— luchd-àitich na Roimh' ; 
Ach ainmeil mar bha iad, ghrad chaochail an glòir 
O'n am anns an d' iarr iad le mi-run a'd' choir. 

An uile-bheist chealg.ich, dearg shiùrsach na Roimh ', 
Gu dàna ghlac t' alum agus còraichean t'àigh, 
Fo choltas na caorach ghoid 'stigh air do chrò, 
'S ghrad rinn i a lionadh le h-ainneart a's bròn. 

Ach spionadh a' chreach so gun taing as a glaic, 
'S a gràinealachd oillteil ghrad thugadh gu beachd ; 
Ged tha fraoch-f hearg a cridhe le gamhlas ag at, 
Coma dhuit-sa cò dhiùbh — chaidh an nathair a lot. 

Mo chreach ! anns an tir sa' bheil eòlas air Dia, 

Agus solus an t-soisgeil a' dealradh gu fial : 

Seadh ! eadhon an sin chlaoidh iad thusa gu cruaidh, 

A's dh' f heuch iad do mhilleadh le deuchaiunibh truagh. 

Feadh gharbhlach na beinue do ruag iad do chlann, 
Do naomh-thighean leag iad, le foirneart au lann ; 
'S e daingneach a phriosain a f huair thu o d' nàimh, 
'S tha 'chroich air a deargadh le full do chuid dàimh. 

Ach dh' f hulling do naimhdean, as dh' fhuiling an sliochd, 
A's dh' f hògradh gach aon diubh gun chòmhnadh gun iochd 
Chaochail iadsan air faontraigh, 'nan allabain thruagh, 
dhùthaich an sinnsear, gun iomradh gun luaidh. 

Com tha thusa fo imcheist, no idir fo sgàth ? 
Do Cheannard cha treig thu a chaoidh no gu bràth ! 
Aon uàmhaid cha d' eiiich a' t' aghaidh-sa riamh, 
Nach do sheaig ann an tiota fo chorruich an I'riath. 

Ged dh' tireadh gach nàmhald tha miannach do sgrios, 
Na gabhadh iad mùiseag tha 'g iarraidh do leas ; 
Oir is suarach gach innleachd a chleachdas an daoi, 
Cha bhuadhaich a h-aou diubh a' t' aghaidh-sa chaoidh. 

Ged dh' Cireadh an f hairgc, 's ged dh' atadh an cuan, 
Ged bhristeadh iad thairis air carraig nan stuagh ; 
Air an ais' uuair a philleas na tonnan le gàir, 
Tha 'chai-raig 'na seasamh gu daingeann mar bha. 

Do nigheans', Shion ! biodh dileas do d' Righ 
IJheii- esan gach cùis, ann an gliocas gu crich ; 


And though judges may threaten, and statesmen may frown, 
Be sure that thy hulwarks will never come down 

The heavens shall depart, and the earth shall decay, 
The woi-ld and its minions shall soon pass away : 
But no jot of the rights which to thee have been willed, 
Shall e'er pass away till all be fulfilled. 


In a dream of the night I was wafted away 
To the muirland of mist M'here the bless'd Martyrs lay ; 
Where Cameron's sword and his bible are seen, 
Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green. 

'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, 
When the minister's home was the mountain and wood ; 
When in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion, 
All bloody and torn 'raong the heather was lying. 

'Twas morning ; and summer's young sun from the east 
Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's breast ; 
f)n woodland and cairntable the clear shining dew 
Glisten'd there 'mong the heath-bells and mountain flowers blue 

And far up in heaven, near the white sunny cloud. 
The song of the lark was melodious and loud, 
And in Ulenrauir's wild solitude, lengthened and deep. 
Were the whistling of plovers and bleating of sheep. 

And Wellwood's sweet valleys breathed music and gladdness ; 
The fresh meadow blooms hung in b.^auty and redness ; 
Its daughters were happy to hail the returning. 
And drink the delights of July's sweet morning. 

But, oh ! there were hearts cherished far other feelings, 

Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings. 

Who drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow. 

For they knew that their blood Avonld bedew it to-morrow. 

'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying, 
Concealed 'mong the mist where the heathfowl Mas crying ; 
For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering, 
And their bridle reins rang through the thin misty covering. 

Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheathed. 
But the vengeance that darkened their brow was uubreathed 


Tmìch tliusagu h-earbsach an solas a ghuùis', 

'S do bhàbhuiim a chaoidli cha toir nàmhaid a nuas. 

Theid nèamh agus talamh chuir thairis gu dian, 
A's caochlaidh ua daoine mar slmeachda sian ; 
Ach a' phuÌDg siii is lugha, cha chaochail am feasd, 
Do gach gealladh a thugadh do Eaglais Chriosd. 


Aun an aisling na h-oidh'ch' chaidh mo ghiulan an àird 
Chum nam beann air'n do rnaigeadh na Mairtirich àigh ; 
Far bheil BiotuiU uan naomh 's airm-chatha nan laoch, 
Air an gearradh air cloich far an dosrach am fraoch. 

B'e aisling mu linntean geur-Ieanmbuinn a bh'aim, 
'N uair dli'f hùgradh na uaoiinh roi' choiUtibh nam beann ; 
Bha caomh bhiatach Shioin 'an uaigneas an t-glcibh, 
Aii' a dathadh le fuil, agus reubt' as a cheil'. 

B'e maduinn an t-samhraidh, a's bha fann ghath na grciuo, 
Gu h-àillidh a' boillsgeadh air gorm sblios nan sleibhtean; 
Air beann tan na dù'cha bha tlà dhealt a's drùchd, 
A' braonadh air lu^an, 'sair blaithean nan stuchd. 

Bha'n uiseag gu ceohnhor feadh neoil ghil nan speur, 

A' seinn le toilinntinn am binn cheileir rcidh, 

Bha'n f lieadag ga cluinntinn an an doimhneachd an aonaich, 

'S air mouadh an f hraoich bha mèihch nan caorach. 

Gleann Wellwood bha ùror a' fosgladh fo shòlas, 
'S gach ceud-bhlàth air fas ann an àirde am bòichead ; 
Chuir òighean a' ghlinne le aiteas an gràidh, 
Fdilte le tolas air maduiun an àigh. 

Ach mo thruaighe do'n bhuidhinn a dh'eirich le cheile, 
Fhuair sealladh roi' laimh air an toanndachd bha 'g eiridh ; 
Cha b' urrainn iad tiachd a bhi ac' air an làraich, 
Far am b' f bios doibh am fuil bhi ga dòrtadh am màireach. 

B' iad fuigheall nan laoch a sheas dileas le Cameron, 
Bha gam folach 'sa' cheo am measg ruadh-eoiu a' gharbhiaich, 
Oir bha marcaichean Earshall a' tarruing 'g an coir, 
Sriauan nan each bha ri'm iaicinn roi'n cheo. 

Bha'n aghaidhean uaine, 's an claidheannan rùisgte, 

Ach bha'u dio'ltas a dhubhraich an sùileau gun Lhruchdadh 


With eyes turned to heaven in calm resignation, 
They sung their last song to the God of salvation. 

The hills with the deep mournfnl music were ringing ; 
The curlew and plover in concert were singing ; 
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter, 
As the host of ungodly rushed on to the slaughter. 

.Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire, they were shrouded. 
Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded ; 
Their dark eyes flashed lightning, as, firm and unbending. 
They stood like the rock which the thunder is rending. 

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, 
The helmets were cleft, and the red Llood was streaming, 
The heavens gi-ew dark, and the thunder was rolling, 
When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falhng 

When the righteous had fallen and the combat was ended, 

A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended ; 

Its drivers Avere angels, on horses of whiteness, 

And its burning wheels turned on axles of brightness. 

A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining. 
All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining. 
And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation. 
Have mounted the chariots and steeds of salvation. 

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding ; 
Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding ; 
Glide swiftly, bright spirits! the prize is before ye, 
A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory ! 


HuNALD ! the counsel of Columba hear. 
And to thy friend give now a Avilling ear ; 
><'o studied ornament shall gild my speecn. 
What love shall dictate, I will plainly preach. 

Have faith in God, and his commands obey. 
While fleeting life allows you here to stay ; 
And know, the end for which this life is given, 
Is to prepare the soul for God and heaven. 
Despise the pleasures which will not remain, 
IV'or set thy hearten momentary gain : 
IJut seek for treasures in the sacred page, 
And in the precepts of each saint and sage. 


Na naoimh thog an suilean le umhlachd an àird, 

A's sheinu iad gu tiamhaidh do'n Dia o'n robh 'n sUint'. 

Bha beanntaidhean creagach a' freagairt an òi-ain. 

Rinn an fheadag 's a gliuilbiieach co-sheirm riu cò'lath ; 

Ach bhàsaich an ceòl a' measg spòrs agus gàraich, 

'Nuair bha feachd nam mi-dhiadhach a' triall chum na h-araich 

Ged bha iad a' tuiteam feadh deatach a's teine, 

Bha anama nam f irean ciùiu, siochail, gun eagal ; 

Bha 'n sùilean a' hxsadh, 's le taise cha gheilleadh, 

'S ann a sheas iad mar charraig 's an dealan ga reubadh. 

Rinn na gunnachan làinhach, dhears gorm lanna faobhrach, 
Na clogaidean spealgta, bha 'n dearg fhuil ga taosgadh, 
Dhorchaich na speurau, b' ard beucail na torruinn, 
'S na treun-fhir ga'm marbhadh 'an garbhhich a' mhonaidh. 

'N uair mharbhadh na firein, 'sa chriochnaieh an streupaid, 
Thainig carbad do theine roi' dhubh-neoil nan speuran ; 
B'iad ainglean a's cheruib nan speur a luchd-coimhead, 
'S bha 'rothan a' lasadh air aisilean soluis. 

Chaidh seraph a dh'f hosgladh a dhorsan geal maiseach, 
A bha 'deàrsadh mar or chaidh seachd uaireau a ghlanadh, 
'8 na h-anamaibh eibhinn a dh'eirich a àmhghar, 
'S do fhlaitheauas dh'fhalbh iad air charbad na slàinte. 

Air bogha nan speuran bha'n carbad air fhaicinn, 
Roi' ràidean an tàirueanaich thàirueadh am marc-shluagh : 
Greasaibli aiuglo gu luath, oir tha'n duais ann 'ur coir, 
Crùn a bhios siorruidh ann an riogliachd na glòir. 


Hi comhairl' Chalum Chille a Hunaild eisd, 
'S ri d' charaid aom do chluas gu toileach, geur ; 
Mo chainnt cha bhi le loiuuir tùghlum cruaidh. 
An ni their gràdh ni mi gu saor a luaidh. 

Cuir muinghinn ann au Dia, 's d'a ghuth thoir geill, 
Am feadh a mhaireas la do chuairt fo'n ghrcin ; 
A's thoir fainear ar beath' an so gu'n d' fhuuir 
G'ar n-anaman dheasach' air son sonas buan. 
Dean dimeas <air na sòlasan nach mair, 
'S na leag do cln-i air buanuachd leat nach fan ; 
Ach tòraichd ionmhais anus an Fhocal Naomh, 
A's anns gach comhairle d'a reir thug daoiu' : 


These noblo treasures will remain behind 
When earthly treasures fly on wings of wind 

Think of the time when trembling age shall como, 
And the last messenger to call thee home. 
'Tis wise to meditate betimes on death. 
And that dread moment which will stop the breath. 
On all the ills which age brings in its train, 
Disease and weakness, langour, grief and pain. 
The joints grow stiff, the blood itself run cold, 
Kor can the staff its trembling load uphold. 
And need I speak of groans and pangs of mind, 
And sleep disturbe 1 by every breath of wind ? 
What then avails the heaps of yellow gold. 
For years collected, and each day re-told ? 
Or what avails the table richly stored 
To the sick palate of its dying lord ? 
The sinful pleasures which have long since past. 
Are now like arrov.-s in his heart stuck fast. 

He who reflects that Time, on eagle-wing. 
Flies past, and pioys on evci-y earthly thing, 
Will scorn vain honours, avarice despise, 
On nobler pursuits bynt, beyond the skies. 

Alas ! vain mortals, how misplaced your care. 
When in this world you seek what is not there ? 
True lasting happiness is found above, 
And heaven not earth, you therefore ought to love. 
The rich enjoy not what they seem to have, 
15 ut something more their souls incessant crave. 
The use of riches seldom do they know ; 
For heirs they heap them, or they waste in show. 

O ! happy he, to whoso contented mind 
Riches seem useless, but to help mankind ; 
Who neither squanders what should feed the poor, 
Noi- suffers Avarice to lock his store. 
No moths upon hisheapsof garments feed, 
Nov serves his corn to feed the pampered steed. 
No cank'ring care shall take his peace away ; 
No thief, nor flame, shall ou his substance prey. 
His treasure is secure beyond the skies, 
And there ho finds it on the day he dies. 

This world we entered naked at our birth, 
Naked we leave it, and return to eai-th : 
Silver and gold we need nat much, nor long. 
Since to this world alone such things belong. . 
Life's little space requires no ample store : 
Soon heaven opens to the pious poor ; 
While Pluto's realms their dreary gates unfold, 
to admit who set their souls ou gold. 


Na h-ionmhais luachmhor sin bidh buan mar neamli, 
Ach siubhlaidh ionmhais shaoghalta mar neul. 

Deau smuainteach air an tiom 's an tig seann aois, 
'S an teachdair' deireanuach gud' ghairni on t-saogla'I ; 
Is glic dhuit meorachadli air bàs gach lò, 
A's air au uair 's an toir thu suas an deo — 
Air na h-uilc sin uile thairugeas aois na deigh, 
Bochduinn a's laige, caitiieamh, bròn, a's pein. 
Neo-easguidh bidh na h-uilt, 's ui'n f huil ruith fuar, 
'S cha chum an lorg a h-uallacli critheacli suas : 
A's iomradli 'n ruig mi leas air inntinn clilaoidht', 
A's codal buairte leis gach oiteig ghaoith. 
Clod feum matà nan torran buidhe òir, 
O bhliadhn' gu bhadhna truist, 's nam mcud a' bòsd : 
No'm bord an t-sòigh, 's an t-saibhreis ciod am feum 
Do chàil ro thinn a tliighearn 'dol do'n eug ? 
Na sòlais pheacach bho cheann fada dh'f halbh, 
Tha sàithte nis na chri mar mhile sgolb. 

Es' bheir fainear cia luath tha tioiu dol seach, 
'S a' cosd gach ni is cuspair talmhaidh as, 
Ni sgeig air onair f haoin, air saunt ni tàir, 
Le 'shùil air nithe 'sfearr taobh thall a' bhàis. 

Mo thruaigh ! a chnuimhean bochd' sa' cheo air chall 
Ag iarraidh ni 'san t-saoghal nach 'eil ann, 
Fior shonas maireannach tha shuas gu li-àid — 
Do neamh mata 's na b' ann do'n t saogh'l thoir gràdh. 
Am beartach cha 'n 'eil sona le 'chuid òir, 
Tha mianuiin 'anm' air cuspair eil' an toir ; 
Fior f heuni an saibhreis 's tearc iad e d'an eoil, 
'S e 's guàth leo thorradh suas no chosd le strogh. 

O ! 's son' an neach tha toilichte le 'chi-ann, 
'S le'n coma beartas ach a chum a roinn — 
Nach sgap an ni bu choir dha thoirt do'n bhochd, 
'S nach leig le sannt gu'n glais e suas a stochd. 
Na leomainn cha dean air a thrusgain beud, 
'S cha toir e glnàn a reamhrachadìi nan ste uJ, 
Ni mo bheir iomagain cri e chaoirlh i'o sprocad : 
No teine iòs, no meirlich gu bhi bochd. 
Tha ionmhas taisgt' os ceann nan neul gu h-àrd, 
A's gheibh e 'n sin le riadh o latha 'Lhài^. 

Lomnochd thàinig sinn do'n t-saogh'l so'n tùs, 
A's lomnochd uaithe pillidh sinn do'n iiir : 
Ar feum air airgiod cha bhi mòr no buan, 
A chionn nach buin e ach do'n taobh so'u uaigh. 
La cuairt chloiim daoin' a bhos cha 'n iarr mòr stochd, 
Oir fosglaidh neamh gun dàil do'n diadhaidh bhochd, 
Am feadh a dh' f hosglas pviosan doicha a bhròin 
G'an gabliail-san a steach linn dia do'n or. 


Our Saviour bicls us Avarice avoid, 
Nor love those things which can't he long enjoyed. 
Short, says the Psalmist, are the days of mau, 
The measure of his life a narrow span. 
Time flies away ; and on its rapid wing 
We fly along, Avith every earthly thing. 
Yet Time returns, and crowns the Spring with flowers^ 
Renews the seasons, and repeats the hours. 
But life returns not Avith revolving years, 
And man, once gone, on earth no moi-e appears. 
"Wise then is ho who makes it his great care, 
In this short space, for heaven to prepare. 

M U T A L I T Y . 

why should the spirit of mortal be proud ! 
Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave. 
He passes from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, 
Be scattered around, and together be laid ; 
And the young and the old, and the low and the high 
Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie. 

The child that a mother attended and loved, 
The mother that infant's affection had proved. 
The husband that mother and infant had blest. 
Each — all are away to their dwelling of rest. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye. 
Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by; 
And the memory of those that loved her and praised, 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne. 
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, 
The eye of the sago, and the heart of the brave. 
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap. 
The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep, 
The beggar that Avandeied in seaicii of his bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that Ave tread. 

The saint that enjoyed the communion of heaven. 
The sinner that dared to remain unforgiven, 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 


Tha sannt fo dhimeas aun am focal De, 
Is lubach. carach tha gacli ni fo 'n ghreiu : 
An duine truagh, tliuirt Daibhkih, 's geaiT a la, 
A bheatha teichidh as gu luath mar sgàil. 
Tha tiom iki ruith, a's air a sgiathciibh luath 
Tha sinne 'falbh mar chàch gu'r dachaidh bhuan. 
Ach pillidh tiom, a's bheir na glinn fo bhlàth, 
'S thig am gu cur a's buain, a's la 'n deigh la. 
Ach beatha ris cha phill le blath nam bruach, 
A's duiue aon uair marl)li cha phill o'n uaigh. 
Is glic inata gach aon d'au cùram geur, 
'S an t-seal so uUachadh fa theachd a Dhe. 

B A S Jil H I R E A C II D . 

Ciod uime 'n dean duine gearr-shaoghalach uaill ! 
Mar an dreug, no mar neul a shiubhlas gu luath, 
Mar bhoilsgeadh an dealain — mar thonnau air tràigh, 
O bheatha tha 'siubhal gu tosdachd a' bhàis. 

Seargaidh duilleach an daraich 's an t-seilich 's a' ghrein, 
Theid an sgapadh mu'u cuairt, a's ni luidhe le chèil'; 
An t-òg a's an t-aosd', an t-ainnis, 's an t-àrd, 
Ni luidhe gu tosdach fo chuibhreach a' bhàis. 

An leanabh a dh'altrum a mhathair le gràdh, 
'S a' mhàthair 'bha tairisneach, iochdmhor, a's blath ; 
'S an t-athair a ghràdhaich a leanabh, 'sa chèil', 
Tha lad uile a nis 'nan luidhe fo 'n dèil'. 

A' mhaighdean bha maiscach, lo aoibh air a gnùis, 
A nis tha, na luidhe gu tosdach 'sau ùir ; 
A's tha cuimhne na muinntir 'thug speis di a's gràdh, 
Air an dearmad gu tur leis an àl a tha làth'ir. 

Tha cumhachd an righ a riaghail na slòigh, 

Tha uabhar an t-sagairt a thionndaidh o'n choir, 

Tha sùilean a' ghliocaii-, a's gairdean nam buadh, 

Air am folach 's air chall ann an doimhncachd na h-uaigh. 

Tha'n croitear a shaoitlirich ri cur agus buain, 
'S am buachall a dh'ioualtair a ghobhair feadh bhruach, 
Tha'n deirceach 'bha 'g iarraidh o choigrich a loin, 
Air seargadh mar f heur, a's nan luidhe gun deò. 

An naomh a bha 'mealtuinn co-cliomuun ri Dia, 

'S am peacach d'a aingidheachd fuath nach d' thug riamh, 

An glic a's am baoghalt, an daoi a's an coir, 

Tha'n cnàmhan air measgadh le cbeile fo'n f hòid. 


So the multitude goes — like the flower and the weed 
That wither away to let others succeed ; 
So the multitude comes — even those we behold, 
To repeat every tale that hath often heen told. 

For we are the same that our fathers have been. 
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen, 
"VVe drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun, 
And we run the same course that our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think : 
From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink; 
To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling — 
But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing. 

They loved — but their story we cannot unfold ; 
They scorned — but the heart of the haughty is cold ; 
They grieved — but no wail from their slumbers may come ; 
They joy'd — but the voice of their gladness is dumb. 

They died — ah ! they died ! and we, things that are now, 
"Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
"Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, 
Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road. 

Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain. 
Are mingled together like sunshine and rain ; 
And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge. 
Still follow each other like surge upon surge. 

'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the diaught of a breiith. 
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death ; 
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud — 
O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ! 


" Ho ! thou dark and weary stranger, 
From the tropic's palmy strand, 

Bowed with toil, with mind benighted, 
What would'st thou upon our land ? ' 

" Am I not. man, thy brother ? " 
Spake the stranger patiently, 

''All tliat makes thee, man immortal, 
Tell me, dwells it not in me? 

• I, like thee, have joy, have sorrows; 
I, like thecj have love and fear ; 


Mar so tha 'mhòr chuideachd — a' falbh mar am blàth 
Tha 'seargadh gu nun 'thoirt do aon teachd, 'na 'àit'; 
Mar sin tha 'mhòr chuideachd a' pilleadh a lùs 
Gu aithris gach sgeula gu trie a chaidh inus'. 

Oir tha sinne 's gach ni mar bha iadsan a threig, 
Gach seaUadh a chuunaic iad dhuiune nis 'sleur, 
Ag Ò1 do'n aon fhuaran, o'n ghiein 'faotaina blàth's, 
A' ruith sau aon chùrs' mar rinn iad-san, 'nan la. 

Ar n-athraichean bhreithnich 'nan la mar an clann, 
A's sheachainn am has mar ni sinne san am ; 
A's leanadh ri'm beatha 's ri'm maoin mar sinn fein — 
Ach nan deaun tha air falbh mar an t-eun air an sgeith. 

Thug iad gaol — ach an sgeula co 's urraiun a luaidh ; 
Rinn fanaid — ach cridhe nan uaibhreach tha fuar ; 
Rinn biòn — ach an osnaich cha chluinnoar gu bràth, 
Bha greadhnach — 's an aighear chaidh a' chosg leis a' bhàs. 

Ach dh'eug iad — a's sinne 'tha 'saltairt an tras 
Air an f hòid 'tha 'g an còmhdach an tosdaciid a' bhais ; 
A' tuinneach car sealain far 'n do thuinich na trcin, 
'S a' còmhlach' gach caochladh a thacliah,- riu fein. 

Tha dochas 's an earbsa, toiliuutinu a's peln. 

Air am measgadh mardhubhar 's mar bhoillsgeadh na grein 

A's an gàire, 's an deur, 's an cumha, 's an dan, 

Tha 'leantuinn a' cheilo mar thonnan air tràigh. 

Mar phriobadh na siil, no mar bhoillsgeadh air fair*, 
O àil!ea?hd na slàinte gu duaich'iieachd a' bhàis ; 
O thaladh an aighii", gu bothan a' bhiòin — • 
Ciod uime 'n dean duine gearr-ahaoghalach bòsd ! 


" ! 'cboigvlcli sgith, 'sa tha ro chiar-dhubh, 
O'n tir ghrianaich 's pailnieach fonn, 

Ciod a thug an so d'ar tir thu, 

Crom Id claoidh, 's le h-inntinn throm Ì " 

" Nach brathair dhuit mi fein a dliuine ? " 
Ars' an coigreach dubh gu fòill, 

"Na ni neo-bhà?mhor thusa 'dhuine, 
Nach do thuinich annam fòs ? 

Cosmhuil liut, tha biòn, tha aiteas 
Agam fein, le geilt a's gradh ; 


I, like thee, have hope and longings 
Far beyond this earthly sphere. 

"Thou art happy, — I am sorrowing 
Thou art rich, and I am poor ; 

la the name of our one Father, 

Do not spurn me from your door. 

Thus the dark one spake, imploring 
To each stranger passing nigh ; 'j 

But each child and man and woman, 
Priest and Levite passed him by. 

Spurned of men, — despised, rejected, 

Spurned from school and church and hall. 
Spurned from business and from pleasure, 
Sad he stood apart from all. 

Then I saw a form all glorious. 

Spotless as the dazzling light, 

As He passed, men veiled their faces, 

And the earth, as heaven, giew bright. 

Spake he to the dusky stranger. 

Awe-struck there on bended knee, 

"Rise ! for/ have called thee brother, 
I am not ashamed of thee. 

"By Myself, the Lord of Ages, 

I have sworn to right the wrong ; 

I have pledged my word, unbroken. 
For the weak against the strong. 

"When I wedded mortal nature 

To my Godhead and my throne, 

Then I made all mankind sacred, 
Sealed all human for mine own. 

"And upon my gospel banner 

I have blazed in light the sign- 
He who scorns ìiis lowliest brother, 
Never shall have hand of mine," 

Hear the word ! — who fight for Freedom ! 

Shout it in the battle's van ! 
Hope! for bleeding human nature! 

Christ the God, is Christ the man.' 


Th'agam miannan agus dòchais 

Thar mòr-inbh an stòil so 'n dràst. 

Tha mi 'caoidh, 's tha tliiisa sona, 

Tha mi bochd, 's is leatsa maoin ; 

'N ainm ar n-Athur na buin coimheach 
Rium d* dhovus, oir 'sinn aon." 

Sud thuirt an duine dubh le osnaich, 

Ris gacli coigreacli 'thriall g'a choir ; 

Chaidh Sagart, 's Leibh'each seach gua umhail 
Da, 's gach duiiie heag a's mòr. 

sgoil, eaglais, 's as gach cuideachd, 

Bhuin gach duine ris le tàir ; 
Sheas e cian air falbh gu dubhach, 

gach subhachas bh'aig each, 

'N sin chunnaic mise cruth ro-ghlòrmhor, 
Soilleir, òirdlieirc, glan, gun sniiir ; 

Mar neamh dh'f has tahxmh geal 'nuair thriall e, 
'S chomhdaich daoine fiat an gnùis. 

Thuirt e ris a' choigreach lachdunn, 
'Bha le ball-chrith air a ghlùn, 

" Eirìch ! ghairm mi fein dhlot bràthair, 
'S leam nach nàrach tigh'nn dhuit dlù. 

Ormsa mhionnaich nii, Aosd'-làithean, 
'Bhi 'cur deas na 's cearr mi fein, 

M'fhocal naisg mi air son thruaghan 
'Sheasamh buan an aghaidh threun. 

'Nuair dh'aon mi fein an iiadur basmhor, 
Ri mo Dhiadhachd àrd 's ri m' chùirt, 

'N sin rinn mi'n cinneadh-daonna 'sheuladh, 
'Suas dhomh fein gun treibh nan diù 

Air brataich àluinn àrd mo Shoisgeil 

Sgriobh mi boillsgeil, geal, 'na clàr, 

'^each le'm fuathach bràthair dìblidh, 

Choidhch', gu sior, cha ghlac mo lamh. 

Fhir a thagras air son saorsa, 

So do ghlaodh air liis na strl, 
Dòchas mòr ! do'n dream tha piantach I 

Criosd an Dia, 'sancZwine Criosd! 



I STOOD on an open plain, facing tlie bountling sea, 

And watched the dancing waves as they rolled all brieht and free ; 

The pla\ful winds swept hy me, in plad cai ousal there ; — 

I mused on nature's freedom, so sportive and so fair. 

The clouds with gaudy tinges flew sniftly o'er my head, 

And eolden-crested sea-birds hy ihe ocran's m.-nain sped ; 

My spirit like the waters seemed dancing to the song. 

Of the breeze which whifpertd sweetly, and wooed the waves along. 

I gazed lip to the heavens— their deep and boundless blue 

To thoughts of sweet eternity my swellirg spirit flew ; 

I prayed a wordless prayer to tlje God whom none can see. 

And blessed Him who created man the freest of the free. 

I started from my reverie — a crowd had gathered round : 

A sable maiden wept aloud — her graceful arms were bousd ; — 1 

A niothcr with an infant upon her heaving breast : 

A hoary-headed aged sire, with sorrow sorely pressed. 

Around them passed proud planters: they asked the maiden's years — 
They marked the motlier's muscles, but ihey heeded not her tears— 
They pinched the old nian"s arms, fpoke haishly of his bones — 
They heard each other's ivhispers, but were deaf unto his groans. 

I heard loud voices shouting the price of flesh and blood,'; 
The mother's tears her infant bathed with a convulsive flood. 
The maiden by her father knelt, and madly kissed his hand — 
The old man tore his matted hair, then sui.k upon the strand ; 

And there, like mrnumcnts of grief, with moist, averted eyes, 
The old man and his dau;;htèr gazed upwards to the skies ;— 
And inward asked if God was there, and praved his swift decree, 
To call their broken spiiits home— to set the bondman free. 

'Tis over— and by sinful hands the price of blond is paid; 
One drags the groaning old man oft'^another drags the maid. 
The infant from its mother's breast, sweet smiling as it goes; 
Strives to hsp out its mamma's name, unconscious of htr woes. 

Now boasting of thfir purchases, the planters turn aside. 

And tramp the ci'y's 1 usy marls witli ill br gotten pride, 

The Sabbath comes, the planters meet, and loudly sing and pray 

But leave their broken-hearted slavts, to weep their life away. 

Oh, proud man ! let your hymns be pure, your supplications true, 
" Do you to others as you would have olhersdo to you," 
Go summon all your weeping slaves into the house ot prayer. 
And in the sight ot God and man proclaim their freedom there. 

So may you hop'', when bound by sin. in realms you yet shall see. 
The Saviour's all sufficing love sIibU set your spirit free, 
I5ut hope not to ITcaven's gates to bear yi ur captives' chains; 
Andyet escape the wrath of God, and it's enduring pains. 

Oh. calm shall be your spirits's peace, vihen slavei v is no more, 
Thou Shalt glory in the dancing waves, as they kiss the peblded shore. 
The winds shall gl:id your patriot cheeks, and sport your hcks among; 
And Nature by her stars and moon, shall sing a cheering song. 

And every bird thou seest fly. and every waving tree, 

.'Shall whisper of the tiulh sublime, that thy own sonl is free; 

Free from the curse of slavery's chains, free fr.mi fresh blood and tear* 

Free from polluted lucre's gains, free from disiuibiiig fears. 

And in thy dreams shall visions rise most beautiful to view. 

The ransomed babes along thy path shall perfumed roses strew. 

And in thy waking walks of lift', the constant song shall be. 

'• God bless the truly christian mau that set the bondmen free," 



Sheas mi air faiclie bhoidhich luim, am faisg air bile 'chuain, 
A's bheachdaich mi air sus:ratlh mear nan tonn a b' aillidh snuadh ; 
A' cluicheadh chaidh na gaotlian seach, gu mireagach fa sgaoil ;— 
*S air saorsa naduir bheachdaich mi, a's dli"i ghabh m' anam gaoL 

Na neoil le 'n trusgain or-bhuidhe rinn siubhal seach gu luath. 

'S bha eunlaith mhara loinneireach a' dol gun tamh mu'n cuairt ; 

Co' ionnan ris na h-uisgeachan ghrad thog air m' anam fonn, 

Ri h-oran binn nan h-oiteig bhlath, troimh'n d' iomaineadh an tonn. 

Gu aird na neamhan sheall mi suas — le 'n cuirtein siorruidli gorm — 
A's mile smuain mu'n t-saoghal chian ghrad dh'f hairich mi 'teachd orm ; 
Balbh urnuigh rinn mi ris an Uia nach leir do chloinn nan daoia', 
A's mhol mi ainm-san a rina duin* os ceann gach creutair saor. 

Air dusgadh dhomh o m' mheorachadh — thruis umam moran sluaigh : 
Bha maighdean rihubh a' gul gu h-ard, 's mu 'gairdeanaibh cord cruaidh- 
Air uchd a mharhar naoidhean tlath 's a gbruaidh le deuraibh tais ; — 
Seann duine liath fo acain mhoir le bron air caitheadh as, 

Dh'imich borb phlanndairean mun'cuairt, a's dh'fharraid aois na h-oigb— 
Air neart na raathar ghabh iad beaclid, cha 'n f hac iad riamh a deoir — 
Mhin-rannsaich iad an seann duin' liath, 's rinn di-meas air adhealbh 
Chual iad guth cagair aon a cheil', ach bha d'a och-san balbh. 

Ard ghuthan ladurna rinn fuaira mun phris a b' f biach gach aon ; 
Bhruclid deoir na mathar sios gu dluth air fait a leanabain'ghaoil. 
A' mhaighdean shleuchd le h.athair sios, a's phng le goin a lamh— 
An seann duin' liath spion 'f lialt le bron, a"s thuit e air an traigh : 

'S an sin, le cridhe briste, bi-uit', 's a dheoir a' ruith gun tamh. 

An seann duin" thog ri neamh a shuil maraon r'a nionaig ghraidh ; — 

Ag urnuigh ma bha Dia an sin, e fheachd le 'chobhair cha'oin, 

G'an teasraigin bho 'n amhghar chruaidh — a chur an traill fa sgaoil. 

Ach tiota beag— 's le lamhan ciontach chunntadh sios an t-or ; 
Shlaod fear an seann duin' bronach leis — a's dh' iomain fear an oigh, 
An naoidhean sgaradb leo o "n uchd, 's an gaire air a ghruaidh ; 
A's ainm a mhathar air a bheul. gun toirt fuinear d'a truaigh. 

Chaidh 'nis na planndairean a tbaobh, 'n an cunradh 'deanamh uaill, 
'S le'm buannachd shalaich shiubhail iad troi'bhaile mor an t.sluaigh, 
Air teachd do 'n t-Sabaid thig iad cruinn gu aoradh naomha Dhe ; 
Ach fagaidh iad an traillean truagh an sas a' sileadh dheur. 

O fhir na h-uaill! do shailm biodh glan, 's biodh t'achuinge gun bhreug, 
"Mar b' aill leat each a dheanamh dhuit, dean thusa dhoibh d'a r°ir," 
Do thigh na h-urnuigh dean gu grad do thraillean truagh a ghairm, 
A's ann am fiauuis dhaoin' a's Dhe, an saorsa dean a sheirm. 

A's earbsa faodaidh tu mar sin, air fagail dhuit an t-saogh"il, 
<iu'n cuir an Slanuighear 'na ghradh. do;spiorad fein fa sganil, 
Ach boinrt do thraillean, ! na h-earb gu geatan neamh thoirt suae, 
'S dol as o uamhas corruich Dhe, 's o pheanas siorruidh buan. 

O 's foisneach a bhios t-uchd air teachd la saorsa do gach traill! 
Ni t'inntinn uaill 's na tonnan mear, a bhuaileas air an traigh ; 
Mar oran binn bidh fuaim nan gaoth 'ni mire feadh do chiabh, 
A's nadur fein, 's gach dull 'na com, sior thogaidh fbnn do Dhia. 

Gach craobh a luaisgeas anns a ghaoith, 's gach eun a chi thu 'leum 
Ni cagar riiit mu'n t-saor?a mhoir, a bhios aig t'anam fein ; 
Seadh, saorsa o chiunta tola's dhcur, 's o mhallachd cuing an traill; 
O bhuannachd shalaich mar an ceudn', 's o uamhas gath a' bhais. 

O d'bhruadar duisgidh tu 's sn oidhch' le h-inntinn aoibhinn, ait, 
A's naoidhein shaoirte ni do cbeum le rosan cubhraidh 'sgap' ; 
A's re do bheatha 'n so a bhos sior sheinneav leis gach aon, 
Air cliu an f hirein choir a chuir a thraillean bochd fa sgaoiL 



He died beneath the lash — his mortal frame 
Could bear no more, and Death in mercy came ! 
Patient and calm his spirit passed awav, 
And now his body sleeps beneath the clay ; 
His toils are over, and his weary breast 
Has found, what man in life denied him, — Rest. 
Poor slumbering dust — is there that passes by 
\nd yields thy death the tribute of a sigh? 
The tyrant tramples on thy lowly grave, 
" 'Tis but the ashes of a murdered Slave ! " 
And even the more humane have learned to steel 
Their hearts, and think that only "White Men feel ? 
But Jesus looked upon the scene of death, 
And marked the Negro's last expiring breath ; 
Sustained that breath to speak a parting word, 
An humble witness for his gi-acious Lord : 
And bade him, like the Prince of Heaven, 
Pj'ay that his murderers might be forgiven I 
The gloomy vale he passed, — the pang was o'er, — 
He felt the lash of slavery no more, — 
He dropped his quivering flesh upon the sod, 
And flew to meet his Saviour and his God. 
They dug his burial-place — and cast withm 
The bleeding record of a nation's sin : — 
No eye might dare to pity or to weep, 
No fond aflfection there its watches keep ; 
The purplo stain that told the deed was done. 
Was bleached by midnight doMs and noontide sun ; 
The white man trod as common ground the spot 
Where lay the Slave he mm-dered and forgot. 
— Yet there is hid a safe and sacred trust, 
Angels are guarding the despised dust ; 
And on that day, when all the dead shall rise, 
Shall bear their charge with shoutings to the skies. 


Yes ! I have seen her with her tearful eye 
Fixed on the visions that have long gone by ; 
Bright scenes of bliss, which playful fancy wove, 
As friendship sweetly ripened into love., 



Gu tuille 'ghiulan cha robh neart 'na chom, 

Thràigh uaithe 'auam fo na buillean trom, 

Gu sàmhach, caoiu riun bas bho olc a ghairai, 

'S tha 'chorp a nis 'na shuain fo'n torraig ghuirra. 

A shaothair sguir, 's an ni 's a' bheatha bhos 

A dhiùltadh dha le daoine fhuair e, — Fois. 

A dhuslaich bhailbh, am bheil a' triall ort seach' 

Aon neach dod' bhàs a dh'iocas pris na h-" Och ! " 

A'd' leabaidh dhiblidh saltraidh 'm breun-fhear ort, 

" 'Bheil ann ach duslacli tràill a chaidh a mhort ! " 

A's an-iochd dh'f hòghlum daoine truacaut' fein, 

'iS a mheas nach fairich daoine-dubha peiu ! 

Ach dh'amhairc losa 'nuas air meud an lochd, 

A's thug faineav do chrich an Negro bhochd ; 

A's ueartaich 'anail ann an glaic a' bhàis 

Gu luaidh a thoirt air ainni a Thighearn àigh ; 

A's tròcair iarruidh d'a h\chd-casgraidh breun, 

Mar Phrionnsa Nèamh d'a nairahdean guineach fein ! 

Chuir e 'n gleann domhain, dorcha seach, 's gach bròu, 

'S cha ruig air slat na tràillealachd ni's mo, — 

Fheòil bhriosgach, phlosgach, leig e chum na crèadh', 

A's ruith e 'n coinneamh 'Shlan'ir u's a Dhe. 

Ait-adhlaic chladhaich iad — a's thilg a steach 
Fuil-chuimhneachan a' chinnich so 'n am peac': — 
Cha robh a chridh' aig sùil gu'm faict' a deòir, 
'S cha'n fhaodadh aigne bhlàth ann suidhe 'bhròn ; 
Am ball trom-dhearg a dh'innis mar a bha, 
Bha night' le driuchd na h-oidhch' 's le grian an la ; 
Shaltair an duine geal an t-àit' gun suim 
'S an d' luidh an trail! a chuir e moirt' a chuimhn'. 
Gidheadh tha Neambnuid luachmhor ann fo sgàil, 
Tha aingle' 'cuartachadh an duis fo thàir ; — 
A's ah' an la sin anus an dùisg na mairbh, 
Le h-iolach ni iad gus na neòil a ghairm. 


Seadh ! chunnaic mi le deur a' bhròin 'na sùil 
A' mhaighdean àillidh 'cuimhneachadh le tùrs', 
Air àithean ait a dh 'f halbh 'nuair bhruaidir i, 
M' an t-sonas phailt a mhealladh i gun dith, 


Then the dear youth, through yonder sylvan glade. 
Led the confidmg and the happy maid ; 
Where'er they strayed, all nature fairer seemed — 
Each well-known object with new beauties beamed. 
The day arrived ; but, ah ! how changed the scene 
From what her wishes and her hopes have been ! 
That day which promised bliss and bridal bloom, 
Found her in weeds, her lover in the tomb ! 

Deep was the wound the sad bereavement made. 
And long she wept, but while she wept she prayed ; 
With grief confessing, at her Saviour's feet, 
Her guilt was great, her punishment was meet. 
At length that Savioui-, stooping from on high. 
Silenced her doubts, and whispered, " Jt is 1 " — 
That gentle voice made every munnur cease, 
And o'er her bosom breathed a sacred peace. 
Her soul, no longer to the creature bound. 
Sought her Creator, and while seeking found ; 
Her thoughts, her hopes, her cares fi'om earth withdrew. 
And all surrendered to her Lord anew. 

Thus, when the storm disturbed that inland sea, 
Which bathes thy shore, thrice favoured Galilee I 
The foaming billows mocked the seamen's skill ; 
But when the Saviour utters, " Peace, be still," 
Hushed is the wind, each angry wave subsides. 
And the frail shallop in smooth waters glide. 


Great Jove, of all the immortal gods supreme. 
By various names ador'd ; be thou my theme; 
Tiiou know'st no change, omnipotent art thou : 
Before thy everlasting throne, I bow. 
Nature itself is under thy control. 
Thy arm has form'd. supports, and guides the -whole. 
Man ; blest \\ith vocal pow'rs, is taught to raise 
His tuneful voice to celebrate thy praise. 

» Dr Doddridge has the following note in his Family Expositor^ 
on Acts, xvii. 28: — "These words,'' 'For we are his offspring,' 
(which I choose to put in a poetical order, as best imitating the 
original.) are well known to be found in Aratus, a poet of Cilicia, 
Paul's own Country, who lived about 3U(t years before this time. 
1 wonder so few writers should have added that they are, with the 


An caidreamh gràidh an oig-fhir b'aillidh sgiamh ; 
Le'n trie a ghabh i sràid gun sgàth, gun f hiamh ; 
Ri taobh nan alltan, no sa' choille dhluth. 
Air feasgar blàth, no moch aii- bhàrr an driùcbd. 
Ach O ! mo chreach, nach f haic thu'n caochladh mòr 
Tha nis air teacbd — am fiùran òg cha bheo, — 
Na laidhe tosda<5h tha e anns an ùir, 
An t-òg a dh' fhas gu h-àluinn fallan ùr. 

'S dombain an lot rinn so ua cridhe blath ; 
Ach 'nuair a ghuil, a h-ùrnuigh chuir i 'n àird ; 
'8 gu h-umhal dh' aidich i aig casaibh los' 
A ciont' gu'm b' airidh air na shealbhaich i. 
An sin an Slàn'fhear chròm a nuas agradh, 
" 'S mi fein a th' ann," b'e so an cagar graidh — 
'S le 'chaomh ghuth sèimh gu'n d'f huadaich e gach gruaim 
'So sin a mach gu'n d' mheal i solas nuadh. 
Ni b' f haide cha robh 'cridhe ris a' chreutair fuaight'; 
Ach dh'iarr i 'Cruith'ear, 's 'n uair a shir i, f huair, 
A maoin 'sa dòchas thog i nis a suas, 
*' 'Sa miann gu leir tha Air-san, Treun nam buadh." 

Mar so 'nuair dh' eirich a' mhuir bheuchdach suas ; 
Ri d' thràigh tha slachdraich 'Ghalile nam buaidh, 
Na tonnan uaibhreach 'n suaraich chuir gach ni ; 
Ach 'nuair thuirt losa riutha " Tosd, biodh sith," 
An fhairge shiolaidh, 's balbh gu'n d' fhas au t-sid, 
'S an iiibhrach lag gu tearuinut' i-ainig tir. 


A High nan saogh'l, àrd-cheannard feachd nan dee, 
Ard-mholt' fo iomadh ainm do chliù bidh 'm bheul : 
'S leat neart gun cheann, 's cha chaochail thu gu sior, 
An làth'ir do chathrach siorruidh sleuchdam sios. 
Tha nàdur f('in le chuibhlean mòr fo d' smachd, 
'S air dearn do laimh a' ruith a chuairt a mach. 
'Se crioch chloinn daoiu', le'n teanga cheolmhoir, bhiun, 
Do chliii-sa sheinn 'u an dàin air feadh gach linn. 

alteration of one letter only, to be found in the Hymn of Cleanthes 
to Jupiter, or the supreme God, which I willingly mention, is be 
yond comj)arison the purest and finest piece of natural relia;ion of 
its length, in the whole world, of pagan antiquity ; and which, so 
far as I can recollect, coutains nothing unworthy of a Christian, 
or, I had almost said, of an inspired pen. 


We are thy oflfspring ; we, whose heav'nly bu-th, 
More than from aught that hves and creeps on earth, 
Demands a grateful song : for man alone, 
Of all earth's tenants, can address thy throne. 

Thee will I sing ; and sing thy Pow'r divine. 
By which the sun and stars, and planets shine ; 
And wheeling round the world, obey thy nod. 
And joyful own an ever present God. 
Thou guid'st vnth steady hand, and equal force, 
The forked lightnings in their fiery course ; 
When nature looks aghast, and trembling stands. 
Waiting in solemn silence, thy commands. 
But thou art wise in al ; — when thunders roll 
In awful majesty from pole to pole ; 
And when the lamps of night, and orb of day 
In order move along their noiseless way, 
All that inhabit heaven, and earth, and sea, 
Think, speak, and act, as they are impell'd by thee ; 
Save when the wicked violate thy laws, 
Their own corrupt desires, the guilty cause. 

Thou mak'st the frowning face of nature smile. 
And crowu'st with beauty, things deform'd and vile ; 
All jarring elements of good and ill, 
Touch'd by the plastic hand, obey thy will ; 
And heavenly wisdom, gi-eat beyond control, 
Into one glorious system, forms the whole. 
But wretched men, by vice and folly led, 
Who ne'er in search of happiness have sped, 
AVith ears obstructed and averted eyes ; 
The eternal law of Reason dare despise. 
Which, had they kept it with obedient will. 
Had bless'd their days, and screen'd their life from ill. 
But, Ah ! ill fated men, they onward rush. 
And ev"i-y virtuous feeling madly crush. 
Some pant for fame, by wild ambition fir'd. 
Some grasp at wealth, by love of gold inspir'd. 
Others in brutal sloth dream time away ; 
And some to pleasures give the night and day ; — 
Pleasures of sense, which disappoint and cloy, 
And rob the aching heart ol ev'ry joy. 

But, mighty Jove, Thou bounteous Lord of all. 
Father of gods and men, on the I call. 
Though clouds and darkness gird thy dazzling throne, 
And by thy voice of thunder thou art known, 
Let thy paternal eye with pity see 
The sons of folly waud'ring far from thee. 


Do ghineil 'sìnne fòs d'an tug thu dealbh, 
A's bith ro àrd os ceann nam brùidean balbh 
Gu d' mholadh fein, oir do gacb ni ni falbh 
'Se 'n duine mhain is urrainn gairm air t'ainm. 

Dhuit seinneam, seinneam fos do'n ghairdean threun 
Tre 'm bbeil a' ghrian 's a' ghealach anns an speur, 
'S a' ruith mu'n cuairt a' chruiune reir do mhiann, 
Gu h-ait ag ràdh gur h-uile làithreach Dia : 
Ceart stiùraidh tu le neart do ghilirdein dearbht' 
An dealan gobhlach, bras, 'ua ghathaibh dearg. 
Fo uamhann mòr a's crith 'u uair bhios gacb dùil 
'Nan tosd a' feitheamh foillseachaidb do ruin ; 
Ach thus' is glic gach uair 'n uair bheucbdas fuaim 
An tàirneinich a' marcachd neula luath ; 
'S an uair a ghluaiseas rionnagan na h-oidhch', 
A's lòchran mòr an là gun chlos, gun chlaoidh, 
Luchd-àitieh' nèimh gu leir, a's mara 's tìr', 
Tha leats' a' gluas'd 'nan smuain, 'nan guth, 's 'nan gniomh, 
Ach 'u uair a bhriseas peacaich troimh do reachd 
An t-aobhar tha 'n am miannaibh f6in gu beachd. 

Gnùis ghruamach nàduir cuiridh tu fo aoibh, 
'S le maise crimaidh nithe 'b' aobhar oillt, 
Gach olc a's maith, 's eas-aonachd anns an t-saogh'I 
Do ghuth do bhcil bheir umhlachd, thoileach, shaor, 
'S ni ghocas nèamhaidh mòr o's ceann gach feart 
An toirt mar aon gu còrdadh anns gach beairt. 
Ach daoine truagh a' ruith an deigb am mianu, 
'S a thòrachd sonais nach do charaich riamh, 
Le cluasaibh bodhar agus suiUbh claon 
Lagh siorruidh reusain brisidh iad gu baoth — 
Lagh fos nam biodh iad dileas, umhal da 
A chuireadh aoibhueas cri' 'n an cup' a ghnàth. 
Ach Ah ! mo chreach ! dian ruithidh daoin' do'n olc, 
'S gach sraaointinn ion-mholt' ni gun chiall a mhort ; 
Le miann air aium tha aigne cuid air ghoil, 
Cuid fos a's gràdh an oir 'g an cur air boil — 
Cuid eil' an lunnd ni tiom a chosd gun stàth, 
'S do shòlasaibh bheir cuid an oidhch' 's an la : 
'S iad sòlais mhealltach, bhreugach, bhrùideil, bhreun, 
'S a dh'f hagas daonnan acain ghoirt 'n an deigh. 
Ach thus' a Eigh nam feart an àird nan speur, 
'S ann ort a ghairmeain, Athair dhaoin' a's dhee ; 
Ged chuartaich neula dorcha t'àite tàimh, 
'S a chluinnear anns an tàirneanach do chainnt, 
Gu h-athaireil, bàigheil, seall le h-iochd a nuas 
Air mic na gòraich 'dol air seachran uait — 


On their benighted eyes thy knowledge pour. 
That they may stray in error's path no roore. 
Does heav'nly wisdom o'er the world preside ? 
Let the same wisdom all their footsteps guide. 
Thus honoured, we the nobler honour raise, 
For man was form'd for thy increasing praise ; 
And blest are gods and men, whoever sing 
The Universal Law of their immortal king. 


My ardent heart, with holy raptures fir'd, 
Which this sublime, this heav'nly theme inspired, 
Sends forth good things. In lolty strains I sing 
The pow'r and grandeur of the Almighty King. 
Than tongue can speak, swifter than pen can go, 
Fi'om my transported breast melodious numbers flow. 

All human beauty thou dost far sm-pass, 
Such is the dazzling brightness of thy face. 
Ten thousand suns in one united blaze. 
Would all be lost in thy superior rays. 
Around thy head celestial graces shine, 
Eternal bhss and glory shall be thine. 
Go, hei-o, arm'<] with unresisted might. 
Gird on thy sword, prepare thyself to fight. 
Array'd in majesty, ascend thy car. 
And undisturb'd drive on the prosp'rous war. 
Display thy pow'r, thine en'mies all confound, 
Yet gracious, and still with mercy crown'd. 
The justice of thy cause shall thee inspire 
With holy bravVy and undaunted fire : 
Thy foes shall fall beneath thy couijuering sword, 
And conquer'd kings acknowledge thee their Lord. 

All po^wer is thine, supreme Jehovah ! tliiue 
Infinite empire and eternal reign 
By thy just laws are haughty tyrants sway'd. 
Thou hat'st the bad, the righteous man dost aid : 
For this, my God, thee monarch of the sky. 
Above all rival pow'r, exalts thee high 
Within thy iv'ry courts in shining state, 
Around thy throne attendant princes wait : 
While thoii amidst perfumes, on high reclin'd, 
Dost feed with pure delight thy silent mind. 
Here royal handmaids wait their Lord's command. 
At thy right side thy beauteous queen doth stand, 


Can sùilean dall thoir eòlas air do ghlòir 
A chum 's nach teid air seachran lad ni's mo. 
Fo stiuradh gliocais neamhaidh ma tha 'n saogh'I 
An gliocas ceudua stiuradh cos-cheum dhaoin' ; 
Fo mheas mar so cha bhi ar teanga balbh, 
Oir 's ann gu d' mholadh a chaidh duiue dhealbh ; 
'S is sona daoin' a's dee nach sguir gu sior 
A sheinn air lagh ro f harsuinn, mòr an Righ. 


Do aoibhneas naomh mo chridhe maoth ta Ian 

Le m' aobhar ciùil o'n tionnsgain mi mo dhàn, 

'S mi 'cur an ceill gu fonnmhor àrd le cliii 

Sàr chumhachd fior, a's mòrachd High uan dùl. 

Na bhruidhneas teang' 's na sgriobhas peann neo-chli 

Tha rannan ciùil a' teachd ni's dlùith' o m' chridh. 

Uil' mhaise dhaoin' tha t'àilleachd chaoin-s' os cionn, 
Oir 's àiUidh, ciatach deah'adh fiamh do ghnùis : 
Deich mile grian, ge b'àillidh 'n sgiamh gu leir, 
Gu'm biodh 'san duibhr' an làth'ir do shoillse fein. 
Mu d' chuairt gu leir tha gràsa neamhaidh 'soills' ; 
'S bidh àgh a's glòir gun chrioch 'na d' choir a chaoidh. 
O Ghaisgich ! rach 'na d' neart ro ghaisgeil, treun, 
'S do chlaidheamh crioslaich air do leis gu feum, 
A' d' mhòrachd dhealraich rach a'd' charbad suas, 
A's CUU-, Righ ! an cath gu crich le buaidh. 
Do chumhachd foillsich, 's aimhreitich do naimh, 
Ach tròcair ghràsmhor bidh gu bràth a'd' laimh : 
Bheir t'aobhar ceartais misneach, neart, a's cli, 
Le naomh-euchd treun dhuit leis an dean thu stri 
Do naimhdean sgathar leat fo d' chlaidheamh treun, 
'S their righrean ciosnaicht' gur h-o 'n Triath thu lein. 

Gach neart 's leat fein, lehobhah, Dhe is àird', 
'S a'd' chathair-righ gu'n rioghaich thu gu bràth ; 
Borb-righrean reachd'or tha fo smachd do reachd, 
'S fuath leat an t-aingidh, 'm firean 's annsa leat, 
F'an aobhar sin tha Dia, Ard-Righ nan nèamh, 
Ga d' thogail suas an cumhachd buadhar, Ireun. 
A'd' chùirtibh greadhuach, feuch ! tha prionnsau mòr 
Mu d' chathair-righ a' feitheamh air do ghlòir ; 
'S thu fein gu h-àrd an ciibh'rachd thlàth "san sith, 
'S fior aoibhneas àghmhor 'sàsachadh do chrìdh'. 
Tha nigh'nean righ a' frithealadh 'na d' choir, 
'S do bha-nrigh 'seasamh air do dheas-laimh fòs, 


Her costly robes with golden foliage \rrought, 
Perfuin'd with odours h"om Arabia brought. 

But thou, queen ! give ear and understand, 
Forget thy father's house, and native land : 
Let now thy former loves be all resign'd, 
And on thy hero fix thy longing mind. 
The enamour'*! prince sh ill doat upon thy charms, 
Hang on thy lips, and fold thee in his arms ; 
He'll place thee next himself in state and pow'r, 
(But thou with rev'rence still thy God adore.) 
The Tyrian queen shall leave her native seat, 
And. traught with gifts, in thy apartments wait : 
The rich, and all deriv'd of noble race, 
Shall court thy favour, and implore thy gi'acg. 

Behold the princess cloth 'd in rich attire. 
Great King ! thy destin'd spouse, thy soul's desire ; 
Her robes adom'd with interwoven gold. 
Her radiant face more glorious to behold : 
In charms how far superior is her mind ! 
All graces here, all virtues are combin'd. 

Lo ! Prince, thy royal bride, this lovely maid, 
She comes to thee in nuptial robes array'd ; 
Where needle-work its living art displays, 
And sparkhng gems reflect the golden rays. 
Behold, amidst a choir of virgins bright, 
She walks, surpassing fair, and charms the sight ; 
While winning graces and majestic mien. 
Confess her grandeur and declare her queen ; 
She. thus surrounded by the gazing throng. 
In glad procession shall be brought along, 
With her associate nymphs, shall joyful come. 
And, thronging, enter thy imperial dome. 

But thou, queen ! suspend thy pious care, 
No more lament thy dame and aged sire : 
Instead of these thou joyful shall embrace 
Thy num'rous progeny, a happy race ; 
For grandeur much, for virtue more renown'd, 
And all in future times with empires crown'd. 

Thou art the glorious subject of my lays, 
To nations far romov'd I'll sing thy praise. 
While fleeting shades around the mountains turn. 
And twinkling stars in midnight watches burn ; 
While orient Phoebus gilds the purple day, 
Thy honour, praise, and fame shall ne'er decay. 
[The translation of this Psalm, like many other Pieces given in 
this Work, was executed by the Rev. Angus Mauintyre, Kin- 
lochspelvie, Mull, when a boy at school.] 


An trusgan rìomhach òr-mhaìseach mu bheil 
Gach cùbhraidh'chd àraidh thig o'n Aird-an-ear. 

Ach thus', O Bhan-righ ! aom do chluas, a's eisd, 
Tigh t'athar dioch'naich 's tir do dhiichais tieig, 
'S gach cusbair roimhe choisinneadh do hiaidh, 
'S do mhiann gu leir biodh air-san, Treun nam buadh. 
Le d' bhuaidhibh àraidh 's ni e tala' d' dhàimh 
'S gu caidreach leis thu glaisear 'iia dha laimh ; 
Gu'n cuirear leis thu 'm mòrachd faisg dha fein ; 
Ach thus' do d' Dhia thoir urram gloir a's geill. 
Thig Ban-iigh Thiruis fein o 'h-aite taimh 
Le millte tiodhlac 'steach do d' theanipull àigh ; 
'S na daoine saibhir aims gach ait' fo 'n ghreiu 
Gun iarr do ghiàs 's do dheadh ghean aghmhor fein. 

Feuch! Nigh'n an Righ, an eididh riomhaich, ghriun, 
Do cheile, Ard Righ, miann a's gràdh do chridh, 
'S a falluiun òr-mhaisicht', gu bòidheach, dlùth, 
'S a h-aodunn-dhreach ni 's taitniche do 'n t- sùil ; 
Am buaidhean àigh a ciidh' cia ard gu leir. 
Far bheil a' tàmh gach beus a's gràs is fearr. 
O feuch a Righ ! do cheile riomhach, gràidh, 
A' teachd a"d' ionnsuidh 'n deise bhainns' le h-àgh, 
'An chair ghreis is fearr 's is fineaJt' fiamh 
Le leugaibh soillseach boisgeil mar a' ghrian, 
'Measg mhaighdean' àillidh feuch a Bhan-righ chiùin 
A' falbh gu ciatach, miaghar do gach sùil, 
'S a buaidhean taitueach, 's fiamh ro-thlachdmhor grinu, 
A's riomhadh àillidh 'g inns' gur Bau-righ i. 
Mar so, 's i cuartaichte le sluagli ro mhòr. 
An staid ro ghreadhnach bheirear leo i 'd' choir, 
'S i fein 's a maighdeanna an aoibhneas gràidh 
Gun dòirt a steach do d' theampuU feart'or àigh ; 
Ach thus' Bhan-righ ! cuir air cùl gach bròn, 
A 's t'aithrich' aosda na bi 'caoidh ni 's mo ; 
'N an àite sin dhuit fein bidh sliochd nach gann, 
Mic 's nigh'nean aghmhor bhios gu bràth neo-f hann ; 
'S a bhios le 'm mòrachd ard 'an gloir 's an clii^i, 
Ach bhios ni 's àird' a'm maitheas gràsmhor 's fiii ; 
'Sariaghlas thairis air an talamh nihòr, 
'S do 'm bi a chaoidh, o linn gu linn, mòr ghlòir. 

Ach 's tus', O Ard-righ ! cùis mo dhàin 's mo chiuil, 
'S do dhùthchaibh cein gu'n cuir mi'n ceill do chliù. 
Am feadh a ghluaisras neoil mu chuairt nam beann, 
'S aig am na h-oidhich' bhios reulta 'soillseach ann ; 
'M feadh bhios a' ghrian a' fiamhachadh an lò, 
i 'o gloir 's do chliù cha searg 's cha mhùth ni 's mo. 



I stood by the banks of a swift flowing river, 
While I marked its clear current roU speedily past, 

It seemed to my fancy for ever repeating 
That the dearest enjoyments of life would not last. 

Oh ! tell me, I said, rapid stream of the valley. 
That bear'st in thy course the blue waters away, 

Can the joys of life's morninp; awake but to vanish — 
Can the feelings of love be all doomed to decay ? 
An Echo repeated, — " All doomed to decay ! " 

Flow on in thy course, rapid stream of the valley, 
Since the pleasures of life we so quickly resign ; 

My heart shall rejoice in the wild scenes of nature, 
And friendship's delights while they yet may be mine. 

Must all the sweet charms of mortality perish — 
And friendship's endearments, Ah! will they not stay? 

The simple enchantments of soft blooming nature, 
And the pleasures of mind, — must they too fade away ? 
The Echo slow answered, — " They too fade away ! " 

Then where, I exclaimed, is there hope for the moumer- 
A balm for his sorrow — a smile for his grief? 

If beautiful scenes like the present shall vanish 
Where, where shall we look for a certain relief ? 

Oh ! fly said my soul to the feet of thy Saviour, 
Believe in his mercy, for pardon now pray : 

With him there is fulness of joy and salvation — 
Thy gladness shall live, and shall never decay. 
The Echo said SM^eetly, " Shall never decay ! " 


Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true. 
Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon you. 

For ye waft me to summers of old. 
When the earth teeiii'd around me with fairy delight, 
And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight, 

Like treasures of silver and gold. 

I love you for lulling me back into dreams 

Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams. 

And of birchen glades breathing their balm ; 
While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote. 
And the deep mellow crush of the wood pigeon's note 

Made music that sweeten'd the calm. 



Àìr bruaich aibhne 's mi'm sheasamh ag amharc gu beachdail 
Air a glan shruthaibh còbh'i-ach 'ruith seachad gu cas, 

Air loamsa gu 'u robb i a' sior chur an ceill domh 
Gacb sonas air thalamh nach mail- ach car seal. 

" O ! iunis domh " thuirt mi. " a bhras shruth a' ghleannain, 
A' d' chùrsa tha 'giiilan nam fuar-uisge gorm, 

'N teid gach sonas san t-saoglial mar so as an t-sealladh ? 
Gach faireachduinn ghràidh 'n teid an gearradh air falbh ? 

Thuirt Mactalla 's e 'freagairt, — " An gearradh air falbh." 

Gabh air t' aghart a' t' amar, a bhras shruth a' ghleannain, 
O'n tha sòlasan talmhaidh cho grad ri 'n toirt suas; 

Ach mo chridhe bidh ait 'gabhail seallaidh air nàdur, 
'S am beannachdan cairdeis, o'n 's learn iad san uair. 

'M feum gach ui a ni mills ar beò-shlaint dol seachad ? 
A's beannachdan cairdeis am mair ach car uair ? 

Gach toil-inntinn aon-f hillt' ann an nàdur 'na cheud fhas, 
A's subhachais inntinn, 'n teid gu grad an toirt uainn ? 

Thuirt Mactalla 's e 'freagairt, — " Gu grad an toirt uainn,'' 

" C aite nis " a deir mise, " bheil dòchas 'n f hir-thùrsa ? 
C a' bheil iocshlaiut d'a thrioblaid a's saorsa o 'chall ? 

Ma theid seallaidhnean àluinn mar so as an f hradharc, 
Ri fuasgladh bhios mairionn c' ait' idir an seall ? 

O ! teich-sa," deir m' anam " gu casan do Shlàn'ir, 
Dean maitheanas asluchadh, 's creid aun a ghràdh ; 

Oir annsan tha slàint' agus lanachd gun traoghadh, 
A's t' aoibhneas bidh mairionn 's cha teirig gu bràth ; 

Thuirt Mactalla gu mills — " Cha teirig gu bràth." 


A bhlàithean an raoin ! ^ed 's àillidh 'nan sgeimh 
Blàithean a' p;hàraidh, sibhse b' aniisa learn fein, 

Tha sibh 'g aiseag dhomh samfaraidhean m' òig', 
'Nuair bha aoibhneas air aghaidh an t saoghail mu"n cuairt, 
Sa bha buidheagan 's neoineanan 'comhdach nam bruacb, 
A' fas air shnuadh airgid a's oir. 

Is toigh learn sibh 'chionn a bhi 'tarruing a'm' chuirahn', 
Beaniitaibh lia-ghorm arda na Gaeltaclid "s a h-uillt, 

Agus reidhleanan ciibhraidh nan cluan ; 
Far am faicinn am fiadh astar cian uam sa' ghrein, 
'S an eluinninn an calaman air bharra nan geug, 

Ri durdail throm a bu chianala fuaim. 


Not a pastoral songf has a pleasanter tune 

Than ve speak to my heart little wildings of June : 

Of old ruinous castles ye tell, 
Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, 
When the Magic of Nature first breath'd on my mind, 

And your blossoms were part of her spell. 

Eren now what affections the violet awakes ; 
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, 

Can the wild water lily restore ; 
What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, 
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy; brooks, 

In the vetches that tangled their shore. 

Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, 
Ere the fever of passion or ague of fear 

Had scathed my existence's bloom ; 
Once 1 welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, 
With the visions of youth to revisit my age, 

And I wish you to grow on my tomb. 


The following Poem was composed by the Rev. Dr. John M'Leod 
of Morven, on seeing a flag waving from the battlements of Duart 
Castle on a Sabbath morning, intimating to the surrounding peas- 
antry that a sermon was to be preached on that day in the neigh- 
bourhood. What is given on the opposite page, is not a literal 
translation, but it gives the substance of the English. It is by Dr 
M'Lcod of Glasgow, a gentleman to whom the Highlanders are 
more indebted than to any man living, for his labours in connex- 
ion with their native literature. 

On the war tower of Duart the banner is spread, 
But 'tis not the banner of terror and dread ; 
It sends the far summons, o'er mountain and heath, 
But 'tis not the summons to onset and death. 

It calls not the chieftain to gird on his might, 
To send forth the war-cry, and arm for the fight ; 
It calls not each clansman, in hostile array, 
From his home and his kindred to hasten away. 

It calls not the mother hi anguish to mourn 
( )'er the child of her hope as if ne'er to return ; 
It calls not the widow, in forebodings of fear, 
O'er her fatherless ofTspriug to shed forth the tear. 


Cha 'n 'eil oran na ceol a bheir solas do m' chri', 
Mar ni sibhse a neoineana boidheach na Iri ; 

Tha sibh 'g innse mu lùraichean uain', 
Far am b' ait leain bhi 'tacbairt ruibh 's dearc air 'ur gnùis, 
'Nuair a bheachdaich mi iongantais naduir an tùs, 

'S bba 'ur 'n àilleachd-se 'dùsgadb mo smuain. 

Nach tig blàths ann am chri', 'nuair a chi mi'n t-sail-chuach — 
Nach iomad seimhlochan fior uisg' le'n innseagan uaiu', 

Thig a'm' chuimhne, 'sna duileagaibh bait'; 
Nach iomad sealladh is leur dhomh sail t-sobhracb 's glan snuadh 
Nach iomad allt briceineach, bulbhagach, luath, 

'Sa' pheasair-liichag mu'm bruachaibh a' fas ! 

Fhiadh-bhlàithean nan raon ! bha sibh ionmhuinn 'sua làith, 
Mu'n d' rinn buaireas inntiun, iomagain uo criidh, 

Mo chitileachd a mhilleadh 's mo shnuadh, 
Fàiite dhuibh fhathast ann am feasgar mo shaogh"il, 
Thigh'un le taibhsean na h-òige 'thoirt solas do m' aois, 

'S tha mi guidhe sibh a chinntinn air m' uaigh. 


Air do bhallachaibh cxosda a Dhuairt nan saoi, 
Gur h-àluinn do bhratach a' snàmh auns a' ghaoith : 
Air a' bhaideal m'an iadli an eidheanu gu h-àrd, 
Tha'n sanus r'a f haicinn air maduinn au àigh. 

Tha m'anam a' lasadh lo aiteas, 's le faoilt, 
'An leirsinn do bhrataich, a Dhuairt a' chaoil ; 
An iir bhratach àluinn, gu h-àrd ris a' clirann, 
Tha liouadh le solas luchd-àiteach' nam beann. 

Cha sanus a dhùsgadli na duthcha gu blàr, 
Cha sanus gu eiridh le cheile gu li-àr, 
Cha sanus gu còmhrag, gu creach, no gu strith, 
Ach sanus tha 'tàladh gu arcs na sith. 

Fàilt air a' bhrataich, — O 's taitneach an sgeul ! 
Tha i 'sgaoileadh an diugh mu eirthir a' chaoil ; 
Air moch-thra na sàbaid chaidli a luasga sa' ghaoith, 
A dhiisgadh na duthcha gu lùth-chuirt nan laoidh. 

Cha'n'eil fiamh air an òigh' roi' bhratach an àigh, 
Gu'n gairmear air falbh uaipe leannan a gràidh ; 
Tha màthair nam fleasgach gun eagal, gun f huath, 
A' f aicinn an t-sanuis air Caisteal nan stuadh. 


For the banner that waves is a banner of peacBr 
And the tidings it bears are tlie tidings of grace ; 
In the stillness of Sabbath 'tis wafted abroad. 
To assemble the clansmen to worship their God. 

Oh ! thus may each banner of discord and strife, 
Yet send forth the tidings of gladness and life ; 
Thus caUing on mankind with joyful accord, 
To appear at His altar to worship the Lord. 


"Who fed me from her gentle breast, 
Who hush'd me in her arms to rest. 
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest ? 

My Mother. 
When sleep forsook my open eye, 
Who was it sang sweet lullaby, 
And rock'd me that I should not cry ? 

My Mother. 
Who sat and watch'd my infant head, 
When sleeping in my cradle bed, 
And tears of sweet affection shed ? 

My Mother, 
When pain and sickness made me cry, 
Who gazed upon my heavy eye, 
And wept for fear that I should die ? 

My Mother. 
Who ran to help me when I fell, 
And would some pretty story tell, 
Or kiss the part to make it well ? 

My Mother. 
Who taught my infant lips to pray. 
To love God's holy word and day, 
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way? 

My Mother. 
And can I ever cease to be. 
Affectionate and kind lo thee. 
Who wast so very kind to me, 

My Mother? 


'Deir an t-aosda, 's e 'g eiridh le faoilt air a ghruaidh, 
"'^ O chi mi an sanus tha 'tional an t-sluaigh ! 
Mo cheum ged is anfhann, 's mo cliiabh ged is liath, 
Theid mi le solas thabhairt aoradh do m' Dhia." 

O nach robh bratach gach dvithcha, 's gach fir' ! 
Air an sgaoileadh mar so air maduinn na sith, 
A' toirt caiseamachd àrd a thnigeadh na sloigh, 
Jad a dh'aoradh do'n Ti d'an dligheach gach glòir. 


Co thog mi air a ciochalbh tla, 

'Sa thalaidh mi gu suain le bàigli, 

'S a dli' altrum mi 'na h-uchd le gràdli ; 

Mo Mhàthair. 
'Nuair theich an cadal fada nam 
Co thog an guth bu bhinne fuaim, 
Airchor 'sgu'n thuit mi ann a'm' shuain ? 

Mo Mhàthair. 
Co dh' f hair thairis^orm gu caomh, 
'S mi 'm luidhe anns a' ehreathail fhaoin, 
'S a shil na deòir le bàigh cho caoin ? 

Mo Mhàthair. 
Fo euslainte 'nuair bha mi'n sas, 
am gu h-àm ni's laige 'fas, 
Co ghuil le geilt gu'm faighinn bàs ? 

Mo Mhathair. 
Co a ruith gu m' thogail suas, 
'S a chogair sgeula beag a' m' chluais, 
'S a phòg air falbh mo leòn le triias ? 

Mo Mhathair. 
Co air iirnuigh dhiiisg mo dhèigh, 
Do f hocal naomh a's latha Dhe, 
Gu triall 'aa shlighe dhireach, reidh ? 

Mo Mhathair. 
Am feud e bith nach deanar learn, 
Oaidreamh a's caoimhneas riut gach am, 
A bha cho bàigheil, chaoimhneil rium, 

Mo Mhathair? 


Oh no! the thought I cannot hear ; 
And, if God please my life to spare, 
I hope I shall reward thy care, 

My Mother. 
When thou art feeble, old, and grey, 
My healthy arm shall he thy stay. 
And I will soothe thy pains away. 

My Mother. 
And when I see thee hang thy head, 
'Twill he my turn to watch thy bed, 
And tears of sweet affection shed, 

My Mother. 


As if they had been composed by Alexander Selkirk, during his 
solitary abode on the island of Juan Fernandez. 

I am monarch of all I survey, 

My right there is none to dispute ; 

From the centre all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

solitude I where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone. 
Never hear the sweet music of speech, — 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts, that roam over the plain, 

My form with indifference see ; 
They are so unacquainted with man. 

Their tameness is shocking to me. 

Society, friendship, and lore, 

Divinely bestow'd upon man, 
0, had I the wings of a dove, 

How soon would I taste you again ! 


Cha 'n f heud — b'e sin a bhi gun truas ; 

'S ma cliumas Dia mo bheatha suas, 

Cha bbi do chaoimhneas dhomh gun duais, 

Mo Mbàthair. 
'Nuair db' f hàsas tusa lag sa' cheum, 
Gbeibh thu lorg o m' ghàirdein fèin, 
'S bithidh mi a' m' tbaice dhuit a' d' f beum, 

Mo Mbàthair. 
'Nuair chailleas tu do liith 's do threòir, 
!Ni mi faireadh ort le deòir, 
A dh' oidhch' 's a latha bi'dh mi d' cbòir, 
Mo Mhàthair. 


Mar gu'u rachadh andeanamh le Alasdair Selcirc, anuair abha 
e 'na aonaran aii- eilein luan Fernandes. 

Tba mi 'm righ air na chi mi mu'u cuairt, 

Cba 'n 'eil aon ann ' chur suarach mo reachd ; 
Fad na tire gu eriocbaibh a' chuain, 

Tha gacb eun agus fia'-bhea'ch fo m' smachd. 
aonracbd ! c'à' bbeil gacb buaidb 

Chaidh a luaidh ort cbo trie ann an dan 1 
B' fhearr gaoir-chatba gacb latha bhi 'm cbluais, 

Na bhi 'm rigb an ait' oillteil mar tha. 

Tha mi far nach faigb duine a'm' choir, 

'A'm ònar thig crioch air mo reis, 
Cha chluinn mi aon f bocal na cainnt, 

Thig clisg orm le fuaim mo ghuth fein. 
Tha gacb beathach tha 'siubhal an raoin, 

'Gam f haiciun gun ioghnadh gun sgàth ; 
Tba iad sin cbo neo-chleachdta ri daoin', 

Tha oillt orm am faicinn cbo càld'. 

Comh-chomunn, a's càirdeas, a's gaol, 
Chaidh a bhuileach' air daoinibb o'n aird, 

Na'm bicdh agam-sa sgiathan an eòin, 
'S mi mhealadh a ris sibh gun dàil ! 


My sorrows then I might assuage 
In the ways of religion and truth, 

Might learn from the wisdom of age, 
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 

Religion ! What treasure untold 

Resides in that heavenly word I 
More precious than silver and gold, 

Or all that this earth can afford. 
But the sound of tlie church-going bell 

These vallies and rocks never heard, 
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell, 

Or smiled when a Sabbath appear 'd. 

Ye winds, that have made me your sport. 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial, endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more. 
My friends, do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me ? 
tell me 1 yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is a glance of the mind I 

Compared with the speed of its flight. 
The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But, alas ! recollection at hand 

Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea fowl is gone to her nest, 

The beast is laid down to his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest, 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There's mercy in every plaoe. 

And mercy, encouraging thought ! 
Gives even affliction a grace. 

And reconciles man to his lot. 


An sin gheibhinn fols agus sith 

Ann an soisgeul na firinn, o m' bhròn, 

Dh' f haodainn fòglilum o ghliocas na li-aoi», 
'S a bhi aobhach an cuideacbd na hòig'. 

An Soisgeul ! an t-ionmhas thar luach 

Tha r'a f haotainn am focal an àighl 
Tha' e prìseil tliar airgiod a's or, 

No aon ni air thalainli a ta. 
Ach cha cbualas clag-eaglaise riamh 

Ann an so, feadh nan liath-chreag 's nan gleann, 
Cha do f hreagair fuaiin thiamliaidh a' bbròin 

A's Sàbaid cha 'n aithnichear annt'. 

A ghaothan a dh' f huadaich mi sios, 

Do 'n dithreabh tha aonarach, las, 
Cuiribh sgeul orm bheir aoibhneas do m' ehridh' 

Mu thir do nach till mi gu brath. 
'Bheil mo chàirdean a dh'f hag mi a'ln' dheigh, 

'Cur guidhe no smuain air mo thòir ? 
innis gu bheil caraid a làth'ir, 

Ged nach f haic mise caraid ni's mo. 

Tha 'inntinn an duine ni 's luaith' 

A' gluasad na aon ni a th' ann ; 
An coimeas, cha siubhail a' ghaoth, 

'S caol-shaighdean an t-soluis ach mall. 
'Nuair thig dvithaich mo sliiiinsear a'm bheachd, 

'Sann a shaoileas mi 'thiota bhi thall ; 
Ach tha cuimhne gu luath 'tighinn a steach, 

A's treigidh gach dòchas a mheall. 

Ach tha 'n eunlaith a' falbh thun an nid, 

'S gach fia'-bhea'ch do chòsaibh an t-sleibh ; 
Tha am fois againn eadhon an so, 

'S theid mise do m' bhothan leam f hein. 
Tha tròcair, r'a f haotainn 's gach àit', 

A's tròcair, nach àgh'or an smaoin I 
A leighseas gach trioblaid a's bròa 

A tha 'n loir air clanna nan daoin'. 


2 Kings, xix. 35. 

The Assyrian came dowa like a wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
AVhen the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, 
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed in the fiice of the foe as he pass'd ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heav'd and for ever grew still ! 

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, 
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride : 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf. 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail. 
And the idols are broke in tlie temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the (ientile unsmote by the sword. 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! 

L A V I N I A . 

The lovely, young Lavinia once had friends. 
And fortune smil'd, deceitful, on her birth ; 
For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all, 
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven. 
She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old. 
And poor, hved in a cottage, far retir'd 
Among the windings of a woody vale ; 
By solitude and deep surrounding shades, 
But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd. 



2 Righ, xix. 35. 

Chrom Senacherib mar reub-chu air crò, 

Bha 'armailt a' deah'adh le airgiod a's or ; 

Bha boillsgeadh a launan mar reultaibh 's a' chuan, 

Feadh oidhch' air a luasgadh le gaoith thig o thuath, 

Mar dhuileach na coille 's an Samhradh 'na ghlòir, 

Bu lionmhor a threun-laoich 'n am na grcine 'dhol fodh' ; 

Mar dhuileach na coille 's an Fhogharadh reòt' 

Bha 'ghaisgich sa' mhaduinn sgapt', seargta, gun treòir. 

Sgaoil Aingeal a' Bhàis a sgiath air a' ghaoith, 

A's sheid e le 'anail air aghaidh nan daoi ; 

Air suaimhneas an tàraha thuit pramh-chadal fuar, 

Aon phlosg thug gach cridhe — cha do phlosg ach aon uair. 

Le chuineanan farsuing luidh an t-eaeh air an f hraoch, 
Ach trompa cha d' tharruing e sitir a chaoidh ; 
Bha coip gheal a phlosgaidh gu fuar air an f honn, 
Mar chobhar na mara air sgeir nan garbh thonn. 

Bha 'm marcach na shineadh 's bu diblidh a shnuadh, 
A' mheirg air a chlogad 's an dealt air a ghruaidh ; 
Gach bratach na h-aonar, gach pailliun mar uaigh, 
Gach sleagh bha gun togail, 'sgach gall-tromp gun fhuaim. 

Bha banntraichean Ashuir fo ànradh 'sfo thiìrs', 

A's iodhalan Bhaail 's gach àite 'n an smvir ; 

A's spionuadh a' Chinnich nach do mhilleadh 's an àr, 

Leagh iad, ! Thighearn, mar shneachd ann a'd' làth'ir. 


Bha càirdean aon uair aig Labhinia òg, 
An aiunir àiUidh. Dh'fhàg iad i gu moch ; 
'Na naoidhean chaill i 'h-uile earbsa 's taic, « 

A h-uile dion, — ach neò-chiontas a's nèamh. 
Le 'màthair, banntrach uireasbh'ach a's lag, 
Am bòthan losal chòmhnuich iad le chril' ; 
Folaicht' o dhaoinibh 'n diomhaireachd nan gleann, 
Fo dhubhar chraobh an uaigneas sàmhach, sèimh, 
Gu mòr ni 's mo le macantachd a's bous. 


Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn 
Which Tirtue, sunk to poverty, would meet 
From giddy passion and low-minded pride : 
Almost on Nature's common bounty ted ; 
Like the gay bii'ds that sung them to repose, 
Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. 
Her form was fresher than the morning rose, 
When the dew wets its leaves ; unstain'd, and pure, 
As is the lily, or the mountain snow. 
The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, 
Still on the ground dejected, darting all 
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers : 
Or when the mournful tale her mother told, 
Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once, 
Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star 
Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace 
Sat fair proportion'd on her polish 'd limbs, 
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, 
Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness 
Keeds not the foreign aid of ornament. 
But is. when unadorn'd, adora'd the most. 
Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self. 
Recluse amid the close-embow'ring woods, 
As in the hollow breast of Appenine, 
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, 
A myrtle rises, far from human eye. 
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild ; 
So flourish'd, blooming, and unseen by all, 
The sweet Lavinia. 


How still the morning of the hallow'd day ! 
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hushed 
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song. 
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath 
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, 
That vester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze. 
Sounds the most faint attract the ear — the hum 
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew. 
The distant bleating midway up the hill. 
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud. 
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas, 
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale ; 


Le chèile sheacliaiii iad mar so an tàir, 

Tha daoine 'deanamh tha air at le uaill, 

A ir maise 's beusachd ann an la an aire. 

Bu gliann an Ion, 's cha mhor nach b' ionann fòs 

A's eòin nan geug, a thàlaidh iad gu suain, 

lad sona 'n diugh, suaj-acli mu'n am ri teachd. 

Bu chùbhraidh 'dealbh na blàth a' chèitein ùir 

Fo-dheaìt na maduiun mhoicli, bu ghloine 'snuadh, 

Na'n canach fein, no'n sneachd air uchd nam beann. 

Bha macantas cho caoin 'na sùil ghuirm chiiiiu 

Is gann a thog i, 'dearcadh sios le baigh 

Air snuadh nan neùinean 's air na blàithibh maoth' ; 

No 'nuair a dh' eisdeadh i ri sgeul a' bhròin, 

Mu chaochladli 'dòchais bha aon uiiir cho àrd, 

Mar reul an anmoich dh' aomadh iad a sios 

Fo dhealta tlàth nan deur. — B' àillidh a dealbh, 

A' mhaighdean dhreachmhor so bu mhaisich' fiamh ; 

Le trusgan eutrom dh' eideadh i gu griun 

Ni b' f hearrna riomhadh àrd: — a h-àilleachd-sa 

Clia'n iarradh sgeimh no snas o riomhadh iòs ; 

Gun riomhadh idir 's ann bu riomhaich' i ; 

Suarach m'a h-ailleachd, b' ailleachd i air fad, 

An ribhinn aonarach 'an uaigneas ghleann. 

Mar ann an doirahneachd dhiomhair tir nam beann, 

An coire fasgach, no an glacaibh blàth, 

A chinneas sòbhrach fad' o shealladh siil, 

Le fàile fallain 'mach air feadh an raoin ; 

Mar sin gu ciibhraidh a's gun f hios do'n t-saogh'l 

Gu lurach àluinn 'chinn Labhiuia suas. 


Nach sàmhach maduinn chiùin an latha naoimh ! 
Tha fuaim an t-saoghail balbh. Cha chluinnear fòs 
'Sa bhuaile luinneag, no an f head air raon. 
Tha'n speal 'na sineadh anns an f heur fo dhiiichd, 
Na blaithean maoth a' seargadh anns an spadh, 
G e b' rirail ait iad anns a' ghaoith an de. 
Cluinnear an f huaim is faoine, — eadhon srann 
An t-seillein mhoich, a's braona tlàth an drùchd, 
A's mèilich chaorach 's iad air uchd an tsleibh. 
Tha fiath mar bhan-righ anns na speuraibh shuas. 
Dhasan tha 'mach air feadh nam bruachan àrd 
'N lon-dubh tha 'seinn ni's binn', au- leis, o'n ghleann 


And sweeter from ths sky the gladsome lark 

■^ Garbles his heaven tuned song ; the lulHng brook 

Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ; 

"While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke 

O'erraounts the mist, is heard, at inteiTals, 

The voice of psalms — the simple song of praise. 

"VVlth dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village broods ; 

The dizzying mill-wheel rests ; the anvil's din 

Hath ceased ; all. all around is quietness. 

Less fearful on this day, the limping hare, 

Stops and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, 

Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, 

Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ; 

And, as his stiff, unwieldy bulk he rolls. 

His iron-arm'd hoofs gleam iu the morning ray. 

But chiefly Man the day of rest enjoys. 
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's da}% 
On other days the man of toil is doom'd 
To eat his joyless bread, lonely ; the ground 
Roth seat and board ; screen'd" from the winter's cold 
And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or ti'ee. 
JJut on this day, embosom'd iu his home. 
He shares the frugal meal with those he loves : 
With those he loves he shares the heart-felt joy 
Of giving thanks to God, — not thanks of form — 
A -word and a grimace — but reverently, 
With covered face and upward, earnest eye. 

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. 
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe 
The morning air, pure fiom the city's smoke. 
While, wandering slowly up the river side. 
He meditates on Him, Avhose power he marks 
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, 
As in the liny dew-bent flowers that bloom 
Around its roots ; and while he thus surveys, 
With elevated joy each ruial charm, 
He hopes, yet tears presumption in the hope, 
That heaven may be one Sabbath without end. 


r/VMien the late Mr Patrick JM'Fariane translated to Gasiic the 
■' Essay on the Sauetifitation of the Lord's Day," written by the 
Kev. Samuel Gilfillau, Minister of Comrie (father of the celebrated 
George Gilfillau), he got the hite learned and accomplished Mi 


An riabhag dhirich i an diugh gu neamh, 

Le 'feadan ceolmhor ; tha'n t-alltau fein 

Gu mòr ni's reidhe a' siubhal sios roi'n ghleann. 

O'n bhothan bheag ud as am faicear sniùid 

Ag eiridh caol os ceann a' cheo, tha fuaim 

IS am salma mills — laoidhean uaomha, binn. 

Tha sith OS ceann a' bhaile bhig ud thall, 

An t-innein chlos ; tha h-uile ni 'na thàmh. 

Tha mhaidheach fein, ge fiamhach i, a' stad, 

Le 'sùil 'na deigh, a' beachdachadh gun gheiit 

.\ir duine, a nàmhaid bhorb. Tha'n geavran trom. 

Gun taod no teothair 'g ionalti-adh gu saor ; 

Air leud a dhroma 'cur nan car le strigh, 

A' baoisgeadh 'chrùidhean os a cheann ri grein. 

Ach 's leats' a dhuine an suaimhueas so mar sheilbh. 
Failt' air an la naomh, la chur sgios nam bochd ! 
Re làithean eile air an claoidh gu goirt, 
'Nan aonar ithidh iad gu grad an lOn 
Air an lorn bhlàr, fo dhion o theas no f huachd. 
Am fasgadh creige, no fo dhubhar chraobh ; 
Ach dhachaidh thig iad air an latha naomhs', 
(ju h-ait le luchd an gràidh gun suidh iad sios 
A' roinu an loin, 'sa thogail suas le ch6il' 
An altacha do Dhia — cha'n ann gu faoin 
Le focal, no le gluasad beòil, ach fòs 
Le sùil gu nearah, 's an cridhe 'n sàs gu dlùth. 

Failt' air an latha naomh ! failt' air la nam bochd ! 
Fhuair am fear-ceirde glas an diugh a chead, 
'S e 'falbh o smùid a' bhaile-mhùir gu trath, 
Ri bruaich na h-aibhne dli' iarr e'm taile glan ; 
A' beachdachadh le taing 'an àird' nan craobh, 
'Nanduilleach uaine, 's anns na blàithibh maoth 
Air cumhachd glòrmhor Dhè. — 'S le solas ait 
Mar tha e 'breithneachadh gu stòld' leis fein 
Tha e fo dhòchas, ( ge nach ann gun fhiamh ) 
Gur Sabaid shiorruidh bhios faidheòidh air nèamh. 


Fàilte dhuit, a Shàbaid chaomh ! 

'S tlath do thàmh do'n t-saoitlu-each bhochd, 

A chuir na sea làithean cian, 

'Ga bhuan chlaidreadh le gniomh goirt ! 


Ewan M'Laohlan, rector of the Grammar Scliool, Aberdeen to 
translate the following extracts from " Grahame's Sabbath,'' which 
•were given in the Appendix to the above Essay. Although this 
translation is rather a paraphrase on the original, yet, like all Mr 
M'Lachlan's compositions, the execution of it is so masterly that 
wc feel mueli pleasure in giving it here. Mr M'Lachlan was the 
translator of " The Messiah," the first piece given in this Collec- 
tion, and also of many other pieces, the most important of which 
is the " Iliad of Homer." Only mere specimens of tliis work have 
been printed; but we are informed tliat the entire JMS. is in the 
hands of a female relative of Mr M'Lachlan, residing at Fortwil- 
iiam, who is somewhat reluctant to give it up for publication. VVi 
would recommend to some of those Societies, (say the Glasgow 
Celtic Society) who are so desirous to encourage and foster Gaelic 
literature to rescue this MS. from oblivion, by getting it published 
Tivith all possible speed.] 

Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor-man's day ; 

On other days, the man of toil is doom'd 

To eat his joyless bread lonely ; the ground 

Both seat and board, — screened from the winter's cold 

And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree ; 

But on this day, embosomed in his home. 

He shares the frugal meal Vtith those he loves, 

"With those he loves be shares the heart-felt joy 

Of giving thanks to God ; not thanks of form, 

A woi-d and a grimace, but reverently, 

With covered face, and upward earnest eye. 

The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe — 
He hopes, yet fears presumption in tlie hope, 
To reach those realms where Sabbath never ends, 
Bui now his steps a welcome sound recalls, 
Solemn the knell from yonder ancient pile 
Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe : 
Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-pav'd ground ; 
The aged man, the bowed down, the blind 
Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes 
With pain, and eyes the now-made grave, well-pleas'd i 
These mingled with the young, the gay, approach 
The house of God : These, spite of all their ills, 
A glow of gladness feel ; with silent praise 
They enter in. A placid stillness reigns, 
Until the man of God, worthy the name» 


Aonarach trora dh' ith e 'Ion, 

A shuidhe 's a 'bhòrd am feur ; 

Geug fo blilàth, no call aid chi-ion, 

'Ga dhidein o shion uan speur. 

Faic e'u diugh gu seasgair, sèimh, 

Ri fois air an làraich gliaoil ; 

A' furan cuirme gun stràic 

'An comunn r'a cbàirdibh caoin. 

'An comunn muinntireach a ruin 

'S eibliiun e 'toirt cliii d'a Righ ; 

Còmhdacb mu 'ghniiis, siiil ri nèamh, 

'S cha'n f huar-chràbhadh 'gbnàth's gun bbrigh. 

Is fois do f hear-cèird an drocb neoil, 

Daingeann a dhòigh, ge' mòr 'f hiamb, 

Gum buannaicb e 'n aimsir gbearr 

Riogbachd 's nacb faic Sabaid criocb. 

Faic mar thill e sud roi'n reidh, 
A's fuaim 'na chlijasaibh o'n t-seis bhinn ; 
Beumadh chlag bu ghleadhracb pong, 
O thùr an t-seann aitreabh dhuinn. 
A' siubhal troi'n àilean chiùin, 
Fiamh ait 'ga dhiisgadb 's gach cliabb ; 
'S tbar còrabnard leacach nan uaigb 
Tiugh-dhòrtadh an t-sluaigh a' triall. 
An t-aosda, 'san crom, 'san dall, 
'S gille nan team baoth 'na cheann ; 
Euslaiut' ag àinicb le pein, 
A lamb critheacb, 's a cbeum mall ! 
Le farmad tlia beacbd a sliùl 
Air leabaidh gbuirm ùr nam fàid ; 
^S e 'snàgan gu àros Dc 
Mar ri treud uan treun 's nan òg. 
Ge tiirsach iad sud 's ge trom 
Lasaidh -nan cuim fonn gu ceòì, 
A' direadh a steacb faraon, 
Le balbh aoradh do'n Bhith-mhòr. 
Feucb, tha na miltean 'nan tosd — 
Seall 'ga nochdadh teacbdair' Dhe I 
Dh'f bosgal e'm BiobuU le gvàdh, 
A's luaidb e reaclid àigh nan speur. 
Eiridb mar cbòmhla na slòigh, 
Le salm naomli 's le clarsaieli ghrinn, 
Criiibe 's beul a' gleusadb pbong 
A' coimeasgadh nam fonn binn. 

Albainn ! gu'n deanainn riut faoilt, 
'S tiorail learn raointean do ghleann ; 
Feasgar Dòmhuuich tbar gach tràtb 


Opens the book, and reverentially 
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues — 
The people rising, sing, Witli harp, with harp, 
And voice of psalms, harmoniously attun'd 

The various voices blend. 

O Scotland ! much I love thy tranquil dales ; 
But most 6n Sabbath-evfe, when low the sun 
Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight, 
Wandering, and stopping oft, to hear the song 
Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs ; 
Or when the simple service ends, to hear 
The lifted latch, and mark the grey-haired man, 
The father and the priest, walk forth alone 
Into his garden-plat, or little field, 
To commune with his God in secret prayer ; 
To bless the Lord that in his downward years 
His children are about him 


Sweet is morn's first breeze that strays on the mountain. 
And sighs o'er its bosom, and murmurs away; 
And bright is the beam whicb upsprings from day's fountain, 
And breaks o'er the East in its golden array. 

And lovely the riv'let incessantly flowing, 
Wliicli winds, gently murni'riug, its course through the plain: 
And welcome the beacon whicb faithfully glowing, 
Cheers the heart of the mariner tost on the main. 

But sweeter, my God, is tbv voice of compassion. 
Which soft as the summer's dew fails on the mind; 
Which whispers the tidings of life and salvation, 
And casts the dark shadows of sorrow behind. 

Oh yes ! I have known it, when kindly and clieering, 
It hushVl the hoarse thunders of justice to rest ; 
It was heard, and the angel of mercy appearing, 
Pour'd the balm of relief o'er the jienitent's breast. 

And still may I hear it, while crossing life's ocean, 
Or boine on the billow, or breath'd in the gale ; 
Enkindling the flame of expiring devotion. 
And utt'ring the promise that never shall fail. 


A' ciaradh mu aird nam beann. 
A' ghrian a' tèarnadh do'n chnoc, 
Soills' òir air clioille gach bachd ; 
Mise 'falbh an lòìu 'a'm thosd, 
Lionmhor m' ioghnadh, mòr mo thlachd : 
'Bhi 'cluinntinn co'-sheirm nan gràs 
Ag eiridh o fhàrdaich a' chaoil, 
Taing 'ga dhiol do Righ nan righ, 
Le run cridh' o dhream gun ghaoid. 
'S ionmhuinn learn sud 'nuair theid tàmh 
Air gniomli nach àrd-chuiseach glòir, 
lall chadlia 'ga tarruing siar 
Roi'u fhear liath 's a ghluasad foil. 
An sagart 's an t-athar gràidh 
Ag èuladh troi'n bhlàr leis fein 
Gu bruaicli an iomal an raoin, 
No 'gharradli beag chraobh nan send ; 
A chòmliradh r'a Dhia le cliù, 
Gu cràbhach, diirachdach, teann ; 
A chionn gu bheil a chròilein cruinn 
Seall mu'm faic a làithean ceann. 


'S milis 's an bg mhaduinn sèimh-ghaoth air mor bheanna', 
Ag osnaich sa' mhbinticli, 's a' monbhur air falbh ; 
Is òrbhuidh' an ceud-ghath tba 'lasadh o'n ghrein 
'S an Ear, a's i 'g eiridh mar threuu-f bear fo 'airm. 

O ! "s milis an caochan tba "srutbadb gun traogbadb, 
'S le caitbream a' caochladb a cbùrs' measg nan gleann ; 
Is aoibhinn an t.soillse tba 'seoladh feadh oidhche 
A' mbaraich' fo ainueart, air faontradh feadb tbonn. 

Ach 's milse gun cboimeas, a Dbe, gutb do cbaoimbneis, 
Air m' anam a' boillsgeadb mar dbrùchd air an f bonn ; 
Le iir-sgeul is àgbmhoire, beatb' agus slàinte, 
A db'f buadaicb gach sgàil dborch' a sbùraicb mi trom. 

O seadb ! 's maitb is eol domb, ro-chaoimbneil ga m' cbòmhn adb 
Mar cblos i am mor gbutb 'bha ceartas a' seirm ; 
A' cluinntinn an orduigh dboirt aingeal na trocair 
loc-sblàinte na m' leontaibb thug solas gun seirbb". 

A's daonnan nam' chluasaibb, 'smi 'seoladh air cbuantaibb, 
Gu'n eluinn mi'u fbuaim cbeudna'an soirbbeas, 's an tonu ; 
A'dusgadb o chagailt gach eibhl'ann am aignibh, 
Gam'lasadh gu tagairt a' gbeallaidb nach meall. 


'Tis the still voice of Him who expir'd on the mountain, 
And bieath'd out for sinners his last dyino; ^roan ; 
His voice who on Calvary open'd the fountain, 
Of water to cleanse, and of blood to atone. 

That voice, Oh believer! shall cheer and protect thee, 
^Vhen the cold chill of death thy frail bosom invades; 
At its sound shall the Day-Star arise to direct thee, 
And gild with refulgence the valley of shades. 


The battle is fought on the bleak heather moor, 

And the shield from the Gael has been wrenched in the stour ; 

The sword has been broke in the grasp of the bi-ave, 

And the blood of the valiant is shed by the slave ; 

The kilt and the plaid that adorned the free 

By Cumberland's horsemen are trod on the lea, 

While the leal-hearted clansmen, whose limbs they arrayed, 

On the battle-field mangled and gory are laid. 

In the land of the mountains are wailing and woe ; 
Its bonneted chieftains are vanquished and low ; 
The warriors that liie in defeat would not hold, 
On the hill of Culloden are lifeless and cold. 

Farewell, royal Charles ! the conflict is o'er : 
Thy ancestors' kingdom no strife can restore ; 
Thine essay with the clans of my love has been grand, 
The fame of whose prowess for ever shall stand. 

* DrM'Leod, in givini; his thrilling narrative of the rising of 
the Highlanders in 1745 in the " Gaelic Messenger," of which he 
was Editor, concluded his account of the battle of Culloden by 
giving the short bat touching Poem of which the English is a 
translation. While on the subject of Culloden in connection with 
"1Ò we cannot resist the impulse of giving the following spirited 
lines, published some years ago in the " Inverness Advertiser," as 
a suitable inscription for the proposed IVIonumeut to be erected on 
Culloden Moor, to perpetuate the memory of the unfortunate but 
valiant clansmen who fell on that memoral)le day. — 

" Mu'n cuairt an t-sltibh 'tha fo in' bhonn 
TJia iomadadh sonn euchdadi, 


'Se guth ciùiii an Ti rinn air Calbhari iobairt 
(Cha'n anii arson f hirein) d'a spiorad 's d'a f heoil, 
O 'n do ruiih uisge-coisrigt' a's fuil a chuir casgadh 
Air craaidh eigh a' cheartais ag agairt a ehòir. 

Tlia 'n gutii so a chriosduidh, mar shòlas 's mar sgiath dhuit, 
'N uair tha'ra bàs 'teachd a t'iarruidh gud' chaol leabai'fhuair 
Reult na Maidne ag eiridh aig fuaim a ghuth eibhinn, 
'S le òr-bhrat ag eudach gleann iargait nan uaigh. 


Tha'm blài- air achur air monadh an f hraoich, 
Tha'n sgiathair a spìonadh o ghuaiUibh nan laoch ; 
Bhristeadh an claidheamh ann an lamhaibh nan saoi, 
'S tha fuil nam fear geala fo bhounaibh nan daoi. 

Tha 'ni breacan 's an t-f hèile leis an d'èideadh na sàir, 
Ltì raarcaichibh Shasunn air an saltairt ri làr ; 
Tha'n suaicheantas uasal a chòmhdaich na suinn, 
R'a f haicinn 's an àrf haich gun àilleachd, gun loinn. 

Ann an dùthaich nam mòr-bheann tha uanihas a's caoidh, 
Luchd nam boineid, 's nam breacan cha'n f haicear a chaoidh, 
Na fir ùra bu trèine nach gèilleadh 's iad beo, 
Air monadh Chìiil-f hodair, gun phlosg a's gun deo. 

Slàn leat a Thearlaich, chaidh an iomairt le each ; 
Oighreachd do shinnsir, chaidlr i dhl ort gu bratla, 
Thug thu'n oidhirp, 's bu treun i, le gaisgich mo ghràidh ; 
'S bi'dh iomradh 'ur cruadail air a luaidh gu là bhràch. 

A thuit a sios air an fhonn 

Le buiUean a's troni chreuchdan; 
'Sna'm l'aigheadh iad cothrom nan lann 

A tharruinn ie'n teann f heithean, 
Bu honmhor colunn a"s ceaun 

A sgaradh an dream gun eislean; 
'S bhiodh a chaochladh a nis 'san rann 

R'a aithris mu àm an leirsgrios. 
Ach'bhuadliaich miosgain a"s foill, 

'S chaidh laoich na loinn a reubadh ; 
Mar shamhladh chuireadh mis' a chaoidli 

Gach là 'sgach oidhch' mar dh'eirich; 
'S cluinneam troi' mheanglain na coiU' 

Mic Albainn a' caoidh nan Treun Fliear. 


How blest the golden age in eai-ly times, 

When no avenger knew, or punished crimes ; 

M hen faith and truth spontaneously prevailed, 

When fear or force no happy mind assailed. 

No threatening edicts, 'graved in lasting brass, 

No trembling culprit heard his sentence pass, 

No frowning judge impressed the crowd MÙth awe, 

But all were safe without avenging law. 

As yet no pines their native mountains leave 

To cut in crooked keels the hquid wave ; 

No mortals ventured yet to shores unknown, 

For all enjoyed the blessings of their- own. 

No ditches deep yet peaceful towns suiTound, 

No brazen trumpets clang with wai-like sound. 

No soldier yet, nor shield, nor shining sword, 

But peace secure the golden times afford. 

The earth itself no toil or culture knew, 

But fruits which nature gave luxuriant grew ; 

And happy men, with frugal viands blessed, 

Delicious cherries from the mountains pressed. 

Cornels and berries, which the brambles love, 

And acorns from the shady tree of Jove. 

In endless spring spontaneous flowers exhale 

Thek spicy fragrance on the fostering gale ; 

The earth unplough'd grows white %v'ith bending com, 

Unnumbered fruits each fertile field adorn ; 

Now, streams of milk, or floods of nectar flow, 

And yellow honey bursts from every bough. 

What is given on the opposite page was suggested by, and written 
in imitation of Ovid's " Golden ai^e." 


Pity the sorrows of a poor, old man. 
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door : 
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, 
Oh ! give relief, and heaven will bless your store. 



B'i linn an àigh a bh'ann 's na làithibh cèin 

Le sonas araidh, mar a dan' an sgeul ; 

Blia sith a's suaimhneas seasmhach, buan gach tràth, 

Le càirdeas aobhach, caoimhneil, gràdhach, tlàth. 

Ceilg, creacli, no ainneart cha robh ann ni's mo, 

Bha saunt a dhith, 's bha 'n cridhe fior, gun ghò ; 

'S an ceumaibh ceartais bha gach neach a' triall, 

Le sochair nàdurr', 's ann an cairdeas fial. 

Cha robh 's an linn ud lagh gu diogh'Itas trom, 

Bha caomh-lagh nàduir ceart a' tumh 's gach com ; 

'S da reir gach uair bhiodh bens an t-sluaigh gu glic, 

'S cha bhiodh na moid 'gan gairm gu còmhail trie. 

'N sin cha do chleachd iad a bhi 'teachd le fiamh 

A chluinntinn reachd nam breitheamh reachdail, dian ; 

No comlighair uallach inneal b' f huaimneach srann, 

A thional sluaigh gu còrahrag cruaidh nan lann. 

Mar so gu tèaruint', suaimhneach, seimh bha'n tàmh 

Gun sgàth, gun chiiram ac' roimh ionnsuidh nàmh ; 

'S an luaidh gu sior air euchd an sinnsear treun, 

Fo iomradli dhàn nam pong a b' àirde gleus. 

'N an tir, gun f hògradh, bhiodh an cùmhnuidh buan, 

Mu'n d' fhuair iad miagh air cearnaibh cian a' chuain ; 

'S mu'n d' ghabh an Gàidheal cead gu bràth le bròn 

Do " ghlinn a giirùidh 's an d' fhuair e àrach òg," 

'S do tliir an àigli, nam fraoch-bheann àrd 's nan gleanu, 

'S nan sraitliean aiblmeach, dreacht' le coill nan crann. 

Gach aite trie dha dh'àraich sliochd an f heidh, 

Le siol na h-earb' gu pailt air leirg gach sleibh, 

'San sàr-iasg rioghail, 'slann-bhreac 'sriomhach snuadh, 

Aig bruachaibh àithean cian o thràigh a' chuain ; 

'S an sprcidli gu cuanda, bliochdar, guanach, àill', 

Air machair ùror feòir bu shùgh'or càil. 

Le cluantaibh rèidh do 'm b' f heartar eibhinn snuadh, 

'S an comhair sil bu shaoibhir diol do'n t-sluagh ; 

Mar so bha maoin gu saibhir, saor gu'n deoin, 

'S an còmhnuidh ghleann cha b'eòl dhoibh ganntar loin. 


Gabh truas do bhròn an t-seann duin' f hann, 

'S a bhuill air chrith 'ga iomchar chum do theach ; 

Tha 'làithe 'nis ach beag air teachd gu ceann, 

Dean còmhnadh ris 's bidh àgh a'd' mhaoin gu beachd. 


These tatter 'd rags my poverty bespeaks, 
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years ; 
And many a Inrrow in my grief-vorn cheek, 
Has been the channel to a flood of tears. 

Yon house, erected on the rising ground, 
With tempting aspect drew me from my road ; 
For plenty there a residence has found, 
And grandeur a magnificent abode. 

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor! 
Here as I craved a morsel of their bread, 
A pampered menial di'ove me from the door, 
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed. 

Oh ! take me to your hospitable dome. 
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold ! 
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb. 
For I am poor and miserably old. 

Should I reveal the sources of my grief. 
If soft humanity e'er touched your breast. 
Your hands would not with-hold the kind relief, 
And tears of pity would not be represt. 

Heaven sends misfortunes ; why should we repine ? 
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see ; 
And your condition may be soon like mine, 
A child of sorrow and of misery. 

A little farm was my paternal lot, 
Then, like the lark, I sprightly hailed the morn ; 
But ah ! oppression forced me from my cot — 
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. 

My daughter, once the comfort of my age, 
Lured by a villain from her native home ; 
Is cast abandoned on the world's wide stage. 
And doomed in scauty poverty to roam. 

My tender wife, sweet soother of my care, 
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree ; 
Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair, 
And left the world to wretchedness and me. 

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man. 
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door 
Whoso days ai'e dwindled to the shortest span, 
Oh ! orive relief, and heaven will bless vour store. 


Na broineagan so innsidh mi bhi bochd, 
Mo chiabhan glasa dearbhaidh m' aois bbi mòr ; 
■Gach preas a tb'ann am ghruaidh luim chleachd 
A bhi na sruth-chlais dhiomhair aig mo dheòir. 

An tigh ud thall a th'air an àrdan uain', 
Le 'aghaidh shleamhain mheall mi bhàr mo cheum ; 
Au sud fhuair saibhreas ionad taimh a's suain, 
A's mòrchuis riomhach còmhnuidh ghrinndh'i fein. 

'S ci'uaidh cor an ti tha aimbeirteach a's fann ! 
An so 'n uair dh'iarram orra sud greim bidh, 
Chuir òglach geòcach mi air falbh le greann, 
A dh'iarraidh fasgadh ann an sgàil a b' isl'. 

O ! gabb gun dàil mi 'steach do t' f hàrdaich f hial, 
Tha ghaoith ro chruaidh, a's mheith am fuachd mo chlith ! 
Is geaiT mo chuairt do'n uaigh d'am bheil mi triall, 
Oir tha mi uireas'ach a's aosmhor, sgith. 

Na'n innsinn m' aobhar bròin gu h-iomlan duit, 
M'a mhaothaich daonnaclid riamh le tlus do chrì', 
Do lamh cha diùltadli còmhnadh dhomh an diugh, 
'S bhiodh deur a' mhulaid 'ruith o d' ghruaidh gun dith. 

An gearain sinn 'n uair thig mi-shealbh 'n ar dàil ? 
'S e 'm Freasdal thug mi chum na staid so fein ; 
Do chorsa feudaidh bhi mar so gun dàil, 
A'd' leanabh thrioblaidean a's truaigh' fo'n ghi'èin. 

'N uair fhuair mi croiteag bheag o m' athair caoin, 
Mar uiseig shunndaich dh'f hàiltich mi gach la ; 
Ach dh'f hògair fòirneart mi o m' bhothan faoin — 
Mo phòr chaidh aog, a's fhuair mo spreidh am bàs. 

Mo nighean ghràidh, 'bu chorahurtachd do m' aois, 
Mheall daoi-fhear as a tir 's o dachaidh fein, 
A's thilg air faontradh i, gun suim no speis, 
Gu ti-iall 'an aimbeairt ann an dùthaich chèin. 

A's bean mo ghaoil, a dh' f hògi'adh cùram nam, 
Ghrad bhuail an t-òrdugh cruaidh so i le cràdh ; 
'S thuit i na h-iobairt do ea-dòchas buan, 
A's dh' f hag an saoghail truagh so aig a gràdh. 

Gabh truas do bhròn an t-seann duin' f hann, 

'S a bhuill air chrith 'g a iomchar chum do theach ; 

Tha 'làithe 'nis ach beag air teachd gu ceann. 

Dean còmhnadh ris 's bidh àgh a'd' mhaoin gu beachd. 



Afar in the desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Lush-Loy alone by my side ; 
"When the -ways of the world oppress the heart, 
And sick of the present I turn to the past. 

When the eye is suffused with regretful tears, 
From the fond i-ecoUections of former years ; 
And shadows of thincs that have long since fled 
Flit over the brain like ghosts of the dead. 

And my native land, whose magical name, 
Thrills through the heart like electric flame ; 
The home of my childhood, the haunt of my prime — 
All the passions and scenes of these rapturous times. 

Bright visions of glory that vanish too soon, 
Day dreams that departed ere manhood's noon ; 
Attachments by fate or falsehood reft. 
And early companions either lost or left. 

When my feelings were young and the Morld was new, 
Like fresh flowers of Eden unfolding to view ; 
All, all is departed, forgotten forgone, 
And I, a lone exile, remembered by none. 

My high aims abandoned, my good acts undone, 
A'Weaiy of all that is under the sun ; 
AVith that sadness of heart m hich no stranger may scan, 
I ily to the desert afar from man. 

Vv hen the wild turmoil of this wearisome life. 
With its scenes of oppression, corruption and striie ; 
The proud man's fro^vn and the poor man's fear. 
The scorner's laugh and the sufferer's tear. 
When the ways of the woild oppress my heart, 
And I dread its vanity, vileness and art ; 
Ah\ then there is freedom, and joy, and pride, 
A tar in the desert alone to ride. 
Where nothing corrupting or foolish is heard. 
But the wind's gentle zephyrs both near and iar ; 
Away, away in the wilderaess vast. 
Where the foot of the white man hath never past. 

And there while the night winds round me sigh, 
And the stars bum bright in midnight sky ; 
As I sit r.part on the desert stone, 
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone. 



'S e mo mhiann a bhi triall anns na coillleanan fas, 
Le mo steud-each bras riomhach uach diobair an càs, 
'N uair 'bhios amhghairean geura 'toirt dheur o mo shùil, 
A'd mi caoidh gu ro chràiteach na dh' fhàg mi air chùl. 

A's a' sealltainn gu cianail — gach ial — a's gach balbh, 
Ri caomh sgàili'ean tiamhaidh nam bliadhnaibh a dh' f Iialbh ; 
A's ri taibhsean nan eòlach (mo bhròn"~ 's mo luchd gaoil, 
'Chaidh le gaoitli fhuair an reòta mar cheò chur ta sgaoil. 

A's ri tir sin mo dhùcliais — ath-ùrachadh 's clì 
Bheir a h-ainm anns gach uair theid a luaidh do mo chri — ■ 
'S ris an dachaidh 'san d' f has mi air :\iridh an f hraoich, 
Far nach cluinut' ann ach gàirich nam bà a's nan laogh. 

Sin na bruadaran neònach tha 'seòladh mu m' cheann 
Mar a sheòlas am fireun mu chirean nam beann — 
Sin na cusbairean sòlais o 'n d' fhògradh mi trà 
Mus an gann thainig m' òige gu treòir mheadhon-Ià. 

■'N sin bha m'inntinn glan maoth, a's bha 'u saoghal dhomh ùr 
Mar an t-àileadh an Eden a' seideadh feadh f hlùr ; 
Ach chaochail, o'n uair sin, 's cha truagh leis an tràs' 
Gum bheil an Gàidheal air fuadan 'sna coillteanan fas. 

Tha mo neart dol a dliith, tha mo chri' air toirt geill — 
Tha mi sàraichte sgìth leis gach ni tha fo'n ghrein — 
Tha mi claoidhte le truaighean nach smuaintich gu bràth 
Neach ach Gàidheal air fuadan 'sna coillteanan fas. 

Ach 'n uair bhios gach gàbhadh tha'm fàsach nan deur 
Le'n deuchainean cràiteach 's le'n sàrachadh geur — 
'N uair bhios diomba nan triath, agus fiamhachd nam bochd, 
(Gu minic mar tha iad) 'g am f hàgail fo sprochd. 

'Nuair bhios dòighean an t-saoghail 'cur daorsa air m'f honn, 
A's a db'f hàgas 'mhi-naomhachd a's 'f haoineis mi trom ; 
'N sin nach mòr am fuasgladh, an suaimhneas, 's an gràs, 
'Gheibh an Gàidheal air tuadan 'sua coillteanan fas. 

'S an àite nach cluinn mi ni truaUlidh no baoth, 
Ach oiteag o thuath a's i luasgadh nan craobh ; 
Fada cian anns an f hàsach o àros nan slògh, 
Far uach do thog an t-àireach riamh bàthigh na crò. 

Mu f heasgai" tha'n iarmalt 's an iar air dhath 'n òir, 
'N sin foillsichear an Re dhomh 's na reultan 'na còii- ; 
Ag inns' gu bheil tràth dhomh bhi 'tàrsuinn fo bhruaich, 
Mar bha 'm faidhe aig Horeb 'na ònar 's an uaimh. 


A stUl small voice comes through the wild 
Like a father consoling his fretful child ; 
"Which banisheth bitterness, %\Tath and fear, 
Sayiag, " Man is distant, but God is near." 


Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove I 

Thou messenger of spring I 
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, 

And woods thy welcome sing. 

Soon as the daisy decks the green, 

Thy certain voice we hear : 
Hast thou a star to guide thy path. 

Or mark the rolling year ? 

Delightful visitant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers, 
And hear the sound of music sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The school-boy wandering through the wood, 

To pull the primrose gay, 
With pleasure listens to thy voice, 

And imitates thy lay. 

* The following verses on the Cuckoo, said to have been com- 
posed by a medical gentleman in the Highlands, appeared in the 
28th No. of the " Mountain Visitor." The MTÌter admits that 
he had the Poem given above in his eye when he wrote, but de- 
nies that what he gives is a translation. — 

O ! fàilt' ort fein, a chuthag ghorm, 

Le t'òran ceòlmhor, mills ; 
'S e sehm do bheòil sa' cheitein òg 

A thogadh bròn o m' chridhe. 

'S ro bhinn leam t'fhuaim sa' mhaduinu chèit', 

'S tu air bàrr gèig 'san innis ; 
'N am feasgar ciùiu, aig bun nan stùc, 

'N uair bliiodh an driùchd a' sileadh. 

! innis c'àit' an robh do thriall. 
'N uair bha na siautan flonn-fhuar: 


'N siu laidhidk mi 'smuainteach' mu bhuaidh Firrao-ghaoil, 
A's cluinnidh mi ri h-ùine " guth ciùin agus caol,"" 
'G ràdh, " Duine tha cian uait, ach Dia a's a ghràs 
€ha trèig Gàidheal air fuadaii 'sna coillteanan fàs." 


Fàilt' ort, eilthirich ghlais nam bruach, 

Teachdair an earraich ait ; 
Tha t'aitreabh-shamhraidh uil« deas, 

Tha choiir a' seinn duit fàilt'. 

Cha luaithe thig an neòinein maoth, 

Na thogas tus' am fonn ; 
'Bheil agadsa reul-iùil gu h-àrd, 

Gad threorachadh do'n f honn ! 

Leat fein a ctiuairteir aoibhnich ait, 
Dh' f hàiltichinn àm nam blàth ; 

An t-àm 'sam bi a' chòisridh bliinn 
A' seinn gu grinn gach tràth. 

Am balachan beag, 's e trusadh bhlàth, 
Gu h-àrd air uchd nan torn, 

Le aighear èisdidh e do ghutU 
'S co-f hreagraìdh e am fonn. 

N'an robh thu 'd' thosd, gun chàil, gun toirt, 
An cùs a' chnuic fo dhubhar ? 

'S mòr m' f harmad riut, a chubhag chaomh, 
Cha dean thu brùn a'd' shiubhal ; 

Chionn tha do chulthaobli daounan gorm, 
'S do chridhe daonnan subhach. 

'S ged theicheas tu roimb 'n f huarhd air am, 

Gu faic do ghleann thu 'rithisd ; 
Ach 'nuair bheir mise ris mo chiil 

Cha bhi mo dhùil ri pilleadh. 

O ! 's truagh nach b' urrainn dhomh leat triall, 

Air astar sgèith 'nar dithis ; 
Le caismeachd bhinn 'toirt fios gach àm 

'Nuair bhiodh an samhradh 'tighinn. 


What time the pea puts on the bloom 
Thou fly'st thy vocal vale, 

An annual guest in other lands, 
Another spring to hail. 

Sweet bird I thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

No winter in thy year ! 

could I fly, I'd fly with thee ! 

We'd make, with joyful wing. 
Our annual visit o'er the globe, 

Companions of the spring. 


Not a drum was heard, not a fuueral note. 
As his corse o'er the ramparts we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his fai-ewell shot. 
O'er the grave where our hero was buried. 

We buried him darkly, at dead of night, 

The sods wiih our bayouets turning. 
By the strugghng moonbeam's dusky light, 

And our lanterns dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; 

But he lay — like a warrior taking his rest — 
With his martial cloak arouud him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said. 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead 

And we bitterly thought of to-morrow. 

We thought — as we hoUow'd his nariow bed, 

And smooth'd down his lonely pillow — 
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head. 

And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the sphit that's gone, 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; ' 


Fo bhlàth 'n uair thig a' pheasair ghlas, 

Fàgaidh tu 'choill gu luath ; 
Aoidheachd iarraidh tu an dùtheh'aibh cèia 

Chur fàilt air earrach nuadh. 

Do choill-se ! eoin nam buadh tlia gorm, 

Do speur do ghnàth tha blatb, 
Mulad cha 'n 'eil a chaoidh a'd' dhàn, 

No geamhradh ann a'd' thriitb. 

! iia'm bu leamsa sgiath an eoin, 

Gu'n siubhlainn leat gach ait, 
Air cheilidh feadh an t-saoghail rahòÌT, 

Còrahlan an earraich ait. 


Cha chualas foim teise no bròn air a' IWhiir, 
Mar thog sinn a chorp air ar guailnibh ; 

Cha do loisgeadh urchair le saighdear m'an ùir ; 
Druma cha chualas a' bualadh. 

Thiodhlaiceadh esan an uaigueas na h-oìdhch', 
Airm chatha a' cladhach na h-iuach, 

A' ghealach gu fann roi' neulaibh a' soiUs', 
Leus soluis 'g ar seòladh gu tùrsach. 

Cha robh feum aig an laoch air cist' a bhiodh buan. 

No oUanachd anairt g'a chuairteach'; 
Ach iaidh e mar ghaisgeach a' gabhail a shuain, 

Le 'thrusgan cogaidh mu 'n cuairt air. 

B' aithghearr, 's bu tearc an urauigh chaidh suas, 

A's shil sinn na deòir gu samhach, 
Ag amharc air creubh an trein a thug buaidh, 
"A's buairte mu theachd an la màireach. 

Oir thug sinn fainear a' cladhach na h-uaigh, 
'S mar bha sinn gu truagh 'ga dealbhadh, 

Gu'u deanadh coigrich a saltairt le fuath, 
Agus sinn' air a' chuan a' seòladh. 

Le tàir air a spiorad gu'n deanadh an nàmh, 
Air an uaigh so suidhe 'ga chàineadh ; 


But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring, 

And we heard by the distant and random gun., 
That the foe was sullenly firing. — 

Slowly and sadly we laid him do\vn, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ! 

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 
But we left him alone in his glory. 

G L E N A R A .* 

Oh ! heard you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, 
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail ? 
'Tis the Chief of Glenara laments for his dear : 
And her sire and her people are call'd to her biei-. 

Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud ; 
Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn 'd not aloud ; 
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around ; 
They march'd all in silence — they look'd to the ground. 

Jn silence they reach'd over mountain and moor, 
To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar, 
" Now here let us place the gray-stone of her cairn — 
AVhy speak ye no word ?" said Glenara the stern. 

'■ And now tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse. 
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud you your brows ?" 
So spake the rude chieftain : — no answer is made, 
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd. 

* Lady Elizabeth, youngest daughter of Archibald, Second 
Earl of Argyle, was married to Lachlan Cattanach Maclean of 
Duart. It is evident fiom what followed that their marriage was 
not a happy one ; for Maclean, determined to get rid of his wife, 
left her on a rock in the Sound of Mull to perish by the rising 
tide. She was rescued, however, by a boat's crew who had heard 
lier piercing cries, and was conveyed in safety to Inverary Castle. 
Tradition says that Maclean announced to the Argyle family his 
sudden bereavement, and requested them to join in his grief ; and 
w;is suffered to go through the solemnities of a mock funeral — that 
he was met by his father-in-law and his men at the head of 


Ach 's suarach sin dhasau a' gabhail a thàimìi 
Far an d' rinn a luchd-daimh a chàradh. 

Ghairaieadh air falbh sinn o obaii- a' bhròin, 
A's cian mu'n robh crioch air an tùrradli, 

Chuala sinn toirm a' chogaidh 'teachd oirnn, 
A's gaoir nan gunnacha mora. 

Ach leig sinn e sios gu h-athaiseacii ciùin, 

Mar thuit e an trein a mhòrachd, 
Gun leachd-lighe r'a cheann, gun cliàru os a chionn, 

Ach sinte le 'ghlòù- 'na ònrachd. 


O ! 'n cuala sibh nuallan na pioba sa' ghaoith ? 
Tha'm bannal a' tighinn le tuire, 's le caoidh ; 
Dh'eug nighean Mhic Cailein, 's trom acain a chleibh, 
Ag imeachd le 'ghillibh 'an coiuneamli a creubh. 

Ghluais esani-oi'n ghiiilan, luchd-bròiu air gach taobh, 
A chinneadh 'ga leantuinn, cha chualas an glaodh ; 
Phaisg iad am breacain m'am broilleach gu teann, 
Ghluais iad le h-aimheal, gun smid as an ceann. 

Ghluais iad gu tosdach roi' mhonadh an f hraoich, 

Gu rtidhlein an daraich bh'air criouadh le aois ; 

" Fo leachd-lighe na còinnich, 'an so càiribh mo luaidh — 

jVach labhair mo ghillean ?" deir Gleannaora fo ghruaira . 

"A luchd cinnidh mo cheile," ars' an Leathanach garg, 
" Carson tha gach maladh cho duaichuidh le fearg ? 
A'bheil foill air a cleth fo bhreacain a daimh? " 
Thogadh na breacain, 's bha biodag 's gach laimh. 

Gleuara, where the coffin was opened and Maclean disgraced for 
his cruelty and treachery, and was instantly sacrificed by the 
Campbells and thrown into the ready-made grave. The latter 
part ot this report is not correct, as Maclean was killed in Edin- 
burgh, some years thereafter, by the brother of lady Elizabeth. 
The best account we have seen of this wild and romantic afiair 
is wTÌtten by Dr M'Leod of St. Columba, Glasgow, who also 
translated this deservedly popular Poem, The account referred 
to, along with the excellent translation, is given in the Gaelic 
3£es8enger for August, 1829. 


" I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,'' 
i.'ried a voice from the kinsmen, all wTathful and loud, 
" And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem : 
Glenara! Glenara! now read me ray dream !" 

Oh ! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween ; 
W hen the shroud was unclosed and no body was seen ; 
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn- 
'Twas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn ; 

" I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief. 
I di-eamt that her lord was a barbarous chief ; 
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem : 
Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream !" 

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground. 
And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found : 
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne : 
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn ! 


Ye mariners of England ! 

Who guard our native seas, 
Whose flag has braved a thousand years 

The battle and the breeze. 
Your glorious standard launch again. 

To match another foe ! 
And sweep through the deep 

While the stormy tempests blow ; 
While the battle rages long and loud. 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ! 
For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And ocean was their grave ; 
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 
As ye sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy tempests blow; 
While the battle rages long and loud, 

And the stormy tempests blow. 


" Bhruadair inise m'an ribhinn, 's mu eislinn nam marbh. 
Glilaodfa guth an f hir chinnidh gu tartarach searbh ; 
" Bha chaisil-chrò falamh, an t-anart gu'n chreubh, 
'3Ihic Cailein, 'Mhic Caileiu, an aisling so lengh." 

O ! chinn Mac'Illeathain gu glas-neulach fann, 
'Nuair dh'f hosgladh a' chiste, an corp cha robh ann 
'N sin gblaodh am fear-cinnidh ui b'àirde fo cholg. 
Am flath uasal thug gràdh do Ealasaid òig. 

" Chunnaic mis' ann am aisling ribhinn mo ghaoil, 
'S an t-ainneart a f huair i 'an Duairt a' chaoil ; 
Air carraig a' chuain 's ann a chuala mi h-eigh : 
Mhic Cailein, Mhic Cailein, an aisling so leugh." 

Thuit an cealgair le geilt air a ghlùinibh 's an ùir, 
A's dh'aidich e'u t-àite 'n robh 'n t-àilleagan ùr ; 
O charraig a' chuain thugadh ainnir nam buadh, 
'S bha chuirm air a càramh an àros nan stuadh. 


A mharaichean na h-Alba, 

A dh' f halbhadh leinn le gairm, 
Fo'r brataich riabh bu dileas, 

A sheas ri strigh 's ri stoirm ; 
Le siòl a' srannraich 'raach o thir, 

"Chur nairahdean sios le buaidh, 
Agus siùbhlaibli tUar nan sùgh 

'Nuair is gailbhich' smùid a' chuain, 
'S is fuaimneacb, fada toirni a' chath', 

'S is gailbhich' smùid a' chuain. 

Gu 'n eirich rioehd nan treun-fhear 

Mar eibhlean o gach tonn ! 
'n uaighibh uaine sail', 

Air 'm bu bhlàr dhoibhclàir nau long ; 
'S far 'n deachaidh Nelson treun do'r dith, 

Gu'n las gach cridh' gu'r gruaidh, 
'Dol gu siùbhlach thar nan sùgh, 

'Nuair is gailbhich' smuid a' chuain ; 
'S is fuaimneach, fada toirm a' chath', 

'iS is gailbhich' smiiid a' chuain. 


Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep ; 
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 

Her home is on the deep : 
With thunders from her native oak. 

She quells the floods below, 
As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy tempests blow ; 
When the battle rages long and loud, 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

The meteor -flag of England 

Shall yet terrific burn, 
Till danger's troubled night depart, 

And the star of peace return ; 
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name, 

When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
"When the fiery fight is heard no more, 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 


There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower, 
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour! 
1 u vain the viewless seraph lingering there. 
At stany midnight chai-m'd the silent air ; 
In vain the wild-bird caroll'd on the steep, 
To hail the sun slow wheeling from the deep : 
In vain, to sooth the solitary shade, 
Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd ; 
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree. 
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; — 
Still slowly passed the melancholy day, 
iVnd still the stranger wist not where to stray. 
Tho world was sad I — the garden was a wild ! 
And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled ! 


Cha 'n fheum ar dùthaicli daingnich", 

'S tùr-chaisteil cbrann m'a tràigh, 
'S ur siubhal-s' air na sleibhtibh cuain, 

'S ur dacbaidh buan air sail'. 
Le tàirneanacb o'r daracb cruaidh, 

Theid tuinu a chlaoidb gu suain, 
'S iad a' ranaicb gu tràigh, 

'Nuair is gairbhe gairieh cuain ; 
'S is fiiaimneach, fada toirm a' chatb', ' 

'S is gairbhe gairicb cuain. 

A' bhratach bhuadliar, Bhreatunnacb, 

Gu 'n leum 's gu'n las r'a crann, 
Gus 'dean uainn' oidhche 'cbruadail triall, 

'S reul-sitb' gu tir nam beann. 
Bidb sin, a ghaisgeach' fairge ! 

Ar ceol 's ar cuirm le 'r buaidh, 
"S fuaim ar ciuil bidb mu'r cliù, 

'Nuair dh' f bàsas ciùin' air cuan ; 
'S gun tuillidb toirm no teine cath', 

Gun strigh gun stoirm air cuan. 


Bu mhaiseach Eden le 'chuid gheug a's cbrann, 

Ach 's beag do db' aighear 'f buair ar n-athair ann ; 

Bu diomhain do na h-aingil mhaith bbi 'n diiil 

Gun cuireadh iad air aiteas le 'n cruit-chiiiil ; 

Bu diombain do na h-eoin, air òb 's air gheig, 

Bbi 'cur ri ceol san f heasgar bbòidbeach chèit ; 

Eu diombain do 'n t-sruth mhòr bbi 'crùnaicb dba, 

'S do bbeacbain bbreac bhi 'srannraicb 'measg nam biàth 

Cha robb nan ceol acb glòramas gun bblas, 

Cba robb an Gàradb acb mar fbàsacb gblas ; 

Bba Adhamb coir na ònaran fo gbruaim 

Gus an d' fhuair e Eubh, a' bbean a b' eibhinn sauadh. 



There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, 

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill : 
For his country he sighed, when at twilight repaii-ing 

To wander alone by the wind beaten hill : 

But the day-star atti-acted his e)-e's sad devotion. 

For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, 

Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion. 

He sang the bold anthem of Erin g-o bragh. 

Sad is my fate, said the heart-broken stranger ; 
The wild deer and wolf to a covert may flee ; 

* T. Campbell, in bis autohiosraphical notes, written in 18:); 
refers to the above Poem in the following words : — " While tarry- 
ing at Hambur£;h, in the year 1800, I made acquaintance wiib 
some of the Irish refuc;ees, who had been concerned in the rebel- 
lion of 1798. Among these was one Anthony M'Cann, an honest, 
excellent man who is still alive and in prosperous circumstances 
at Altona. When I first knew him he was in a situation much 
the reverse ; but Anthony commanded respect whether rich or poor. 
It was in consequence of meeting him one evening on the banks of 
the Elbe, lonely and pensive at the thought of his situation, that I 
wro'e ' The Exile of Erin.' "" There were others also resident there 
with whom Campbell felt deep sympathy, and this awakened the 
.strings of his lyre and induced this touching cfi'usion, which was 
in a few days set to music and sung by the exiles themselves. The 
celebrated Tom Moose, designated by the Irish " Flath nam Fili," 
often said, that he would rather than fourteen of his best pieces 
that he had been the author of this Poem. Another Irish Poet, 
-Mr James M'Henry, wrote " The Exile's Return," and although 
we cannot at present accompany it with a translation, we hope to 
be able to do so in a subsequent edition. Its insertion here will 
help to cheer the reader after perusing the foregoing. — 

O'er the hills of Slieve-Gallen, as homeward he wandered, • 

The Exile of Erin oft paused with delight; 
To dear recollections his soul he surrendered, 

As each well known object returned to his sight: 
Here was the brook oft he leaped so light-hearted. 
Here was the bower where with love he first smarted, 
-■Vnd here was the old oak where, when he departed. 

He carved his last farewell — 'twas Erin go bragh. 

11 is heart wild was beating, when softly assailed him 
The sound of a harp — Oh ! he listened with joy! 

His quickening emotions, his visage revealed them, 

And the fire of his country beamed strong from his eye ' 

A sweet female voice soon the loved strains attended — * 

'Twas dear to. his fond soul that o'er it suspended, 



Hi cladach a' chuain thainig fuadanach Eirinn, 

'S an driùchd air a thrusgau luidh trom agus fuar 
S i 'n dùthaich rinn 'àrach 'dhùisg pràmhaii a chleibhe, 

'Na aonar fo shiontan a' faontra imi'n cuairt ; 
Ach air reula na maidne ghrad bheachdaich a shùilean, 
\S i 'geiridh a suas os ceaun cuain m'a thir dhiithchais, 
Far am b'àbhaist da òg fonn 'òrain a dhiisgadh, 
A' seiun gu h-ait, eutrom, dàin Eirinn gu bràch ! 

O ! 's truagh tha mo chor, ars' an coigreach 's e cràiteach, 
Gheibh feidh 's madaidh-allt' àite fasgach gu tàmh ; 

With each note the spirits of feeling ascended, 
Suug soft to the accents of Eiiu go bragh. 

• I once had a lover," thus ran the sweet numbers, 

" Now doomed far from me and his country to mourn ; 
Perhaps in the cold bed of death e'en he slumbers — 
Ah! my soul canst thou think he shall ever return ? 
Yes, he shall — for he lives, and his past woes redressing, 
His country shall claim him with smiles and caressing. 
And, locked in my arms, he '11 pronounce her his blessing — 
That country which wronged him, his Erin go bragh. 

■Asa lamb he was meek, as a dove he was tender. 
And formed was his bosom for friendship and love ; 

Rut called by his country, still swift to defend her, 
Undaunted, and tierce as the eagle he 'd move. 

That ardour of passion for me that he pleaded. 

By what female heart could it have been unheeded ? 

The love of his country alone could exceed it, 
For still his first wish was for Erin go bragh ! 

' This Harp on whose strings oft he roused each emotion, 

Unrivalled the soft tones of feeling to draw. 
He left me— the pledge of his heart's true devotion, 

And bade me oft strike it to Erin go bragh ! 
Oft I 've dreamed that on it, as he sat in this bower. 
He touched the sad tale of his exile with power ; 
Each soul-glowing patriot the strain did devoui", 

Struck full to the magic of Erin go bragh. 

" But cease, ye vain dreams ! for at morn still I lose him ; 

And cease, my false hopes ! for my griefs must remain" — 
" No, they must not," he cried — and he rushed to her bosom — 

Your Exile 's returned to his Erin again ! 
Now fallen the oppressors that sought to destroy me, 
Love, friendship, and Erin shall henceforth employ me.'' 

Tis himself!" she exclaimed : " Oh ye powers! ye o'erjoy me! 

Then blest be my country, blest Erin go bragh! " 


But I have no refuge from famine and danger, 
A home and a country remain not for me. 

Never again, in the green sunny bowers, 

Where my forefathers Hved, shall I spend the sweet hours. 

Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers 
And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh. 

O Erin my counti7 ! though sad and forsaken, 

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; 
But alas ! in a far distant land I awaken. 

And sigh for the friends wlio can meet me no more ! 
Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me 
In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chace me ? 
jN'ever again shall my brothers embrace me? 

They died to defend me, or lived to deplore ! 

Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild wood ? 

Sisters and sire ! did you weep for its fall ? 
Where is my mother that tended my childhood ? 

And where is my bosom friend, dearer than all ? 
Oh my sad heart ! long abandoned by pleasure, 
Why did you dote on a fast fading treasure ? 
Tears, like the raindrop, may fall without measure. 

But rapture and beauty they cannot recal . 

Yet all its sad recollections suppressing, 
One dying wish my fond bosom can draw ; 

Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing I 
Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh ! 

Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion, 

Green bo thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean ! 

And thy harp-striking Bards sing aloud with devotion 
Erin mavourniii — Urin go bragh ! 


Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled. 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victory ! 

* In the year 1314 Edward II. invaded Scotland with an army 
of 100,000 men. King Robert Bruce met him at Bannockburn, 
near Stii-liug, with oiUy 40,000 Scots. The above Address is 


Ach dhomhs' cha'n 'eil tearmunn o ghort a's o glaàbhadh, 

Dachaidh a's dùthaicli, mo chùl riu gu brach. 
Gu brach ann an taice nam badan gorm, blàtha, 
Far 'u do thuinnich mo shinnsear cha chaith mi mcvlàithean, 
Le fiadh-lusan bòidheach cha chomhdaich mo chlàrsach, 
'S cha sheiun mi o 'teudau ceòl Eirinn gu brach ! 

Eirinn, mo dhiithaich ! ged 's tùrsach fo thàr mi, 
A'm aisHng a ghnàth tlia mi 'tàladh a' d' choir ; 

Ach 'n uair dhùisgeas gu moch an tir choimhicli a ta mi, 
A' caoidh nan caomh chàirdean nach faic mi ui's mo. 

O ! 's cruaidh an càs gun bhi 'n ait' air mo chàradh 

Far am bithinn fo dhidein — an sith o gach gàbhadh ! 

A chaoidh cha chuir fdilte le gràdh orm mo bhràithrean, 
Ga m' dhion cuid f huair bas, 's na tha làthair ga m' bhròn. 

C'à' bheil mo bhothan, am fochar nan coilltean ? 

Ghuil m' athair 's mo phiuthar 'n uair thuit e gu lar ; 
C'.à' blieil mo mhàthair a dh'àraich mi'm naoidhean ? 

A's c'à' blieil mo cheud-ghi-iidh a's m' flieudail thar chàich? 
O ! m' anam brònach, rinn solas do dhiobairfc. 
Com' an d' chuir thu ùigh ann an dùil tha neo-bhri'or ? 
Ged shileas mo dheòir uam mar dhòrtadh na dile, 

Cha pliill mùirn a's mais' air an ais leo o'n bliàs. 

Ged tha cui'neachadh m' àbhaist an tràs 'toirt mo chli uam, 
Aon athchuinge bais a'm uchd pràmhail ni tàmli ; 

Eirinn, mo bheannachd biodh agad mar dhileab, 
Fhearainn mo shiunsearaibh, Slàn leat gu brach ! 

'Nuair bhios anns an uaigh mo chrl' fuar 'se gun ghluasad, 

O ! innis na mara biodh do mhachraichean uaine ; 

'S do bhàird le guth àrd 'seinn le'u clàrsaicheau fuaimneach, 
" Eirinn, mo mhtiirnein ! Eirinn gu brach ! 


'Threun' 's trie le Wallace 'dh' f hulling creuchd ! 
'S fo Bhruce chaidh dàu' gu àr nan euchd! 
Nia iarraibh bàs am blar nam beum, 

No buaidh gu treun 's an strith ! 

supposed to have been spoken by Bruce to his army on the ap- 
proach of the enemy. The English were defeated, an immense 
sia,ughter followed, and Scotland was delivered from her invaders. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour, 
See the front of battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power, 
Chains and slavery I 

Wha will be a traitor-knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha so base as be a slave ? 

Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha, for Scotland's king and law, 
Freedom's sword would strongly draw. 
Freeman stand or freeman fa', 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains. 
By your sons in servile chains I 
We will drain our dearest veins. 

But they shall be free ! ] 

Lay the proud usurper low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty in every blow ! 

Let us do, or die ! 

On the Death of Mrs William M'Kinnon Fort- Augustus 

She is gone, she is gone, to the mansions of rest. 

And the storm now is hushed in a cahn ; 
She has tuned her sweet harp with the clioirs of the hlest. 

In praises of God and the Lamh. 

Yes! the wild winds are still, and tlie tempest is hushed, 

Jind the voyager is safe on the sliorej 
And the tears now are dry that had formerly gushed; 

And she sighs and she sorrows no more. 

She lived as a pilgrim, — she died in the faith. 

Her heart and her home were above ; 
And no more shall she mourn o'er a body of death. 

Or affections from Jesus that rove. 

' We have seen verses very like the foregoing in an old voliinii 
Poems; we are not, therefore, altogether satisfied, that th' 


So latha 'chruais — an uair tha là'ir I 
Feuch feachd fo'n cruaidh air cluan an air! 
A' teachd le'n uaill gu buaireas blàir 

A dheanamh tliràiUean dhibh ! 

Co tliig do'n strith neo-dhileas, claon ? 
Co dh'iarradh uaigh ach cluan au raoin ? 
Co striochdadh sios gu diblidh, faoin 

Air CÙ1 nan claon-f hear clith ? 

Co 'n càs a righ, a riogh'chd, 's a reachd, 
Bheir beum nan geur-lann treun an gleachd ! 
Gu buaidh a'm blàr no bàs 'na bheachd, 
An gaisgeach leanadh mi.j 

Air truaigbe 's teinn, ar n-ainneirt chruaidb, 
'S ar sliochd an sàs nan tràillibh truagh' ; 
O'r cuislibh tràight' air sgàlh ar sluaigb, 
Thig saorsa bbuan le sitb ! 

Biodb uaibhricb sleuchdt' fo'r beuma bàis ; 
Fear-ainneirt dh'eug 'nuair gheilleas nàmh, 
Tha saorsa f hèin a'm beum 'ur làmh, 

'Ar n-aothaidh — buaidh no bàs san strith 

Air Bus Bean Uilleam Ilhic lonmhuinn an Cille-Chinmein. 

O ! dh'f halbh i air imrich do chomhnuidh na fois, 

I'hainig fosadh air doinionn nan sian ; 
'H gu'n d' ghleus is' a clàrsach ri naomh-cheol nam flatb, 

'Sbeinn cliù do'n Ard-thriath a's do'n Uan. 

Seadh, shiochaidh an stoirm, agus thùirling am fiath, 

'S tha "n taisdealach tearuint' air tir; 
Gu'n do thiormaich na deoir a bha roimhe so 'srutb, 

A's air osnaich a's gul tbainig crioch. 

B' eilthire a beatba; sa' chreidimh bha 'bàs, 

Bha 'cridhe 's a h-àros gu h-àrd; 
Cha gbearain i tuille a h-aigne 'bhi fuar, 

N'a colunn bhi buailteach do'n bhàs. 

English of these lines, were oviginally composed on the death oi 
Mrs William M'Kinnon. 


Now far from this valley of sorrow and care, 
She has joined with the pflorified throng, 

And methinks from the seat of the seraphim there, 
I hear the sweet notes of their song. 

"Salvation, and glory, and wisdom, and might, 

To Him who once died on the cross ; 
And riches, and honour, and power are his right 

Who once bore dishonour and loss. 

To him who so freely redeemed us with blood, 

And washed us from every stain. 
And now makes us Princes and Priests with our God, 

Be glory forever, Amen." 

I'll us they sing, — (for the page of the volume divine 

Thus far has developed their lays;) 
Made like him in glory forever they shine, 

And dwell with delight on his praise. 

Then, weep not, ye children, and weep not ye friends, 

Nor the husband to her was so dear; 
The enjoyments of heaven will soon make amends. 

For our partings and sufferings while here. 

Full oft at the footstool of mercy we bowed, 

Forgiveness and grace to implore. 
With her who now slumbers at rest in her shroud, 

Whom on earth we can met with no more. 

And what though that form once so loved and so dear, 

Must sleep for a while in the tomb; 
Yet soon shall the glorious morning appear, 

That shall raise it in glory to bloom. 

In old Fort-Augustus her memory shall live, 

In the hearts and affections of friends, 
Although she has bade us a lasting farewell, 

Her deeds shall forever remain. 


• I will sing ot the mercies of the Lord for ever: with my moutli 
will I make known tliy faithfulness to all generations." — 
Psalm Ixxxix. 1. 

Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song. 
The joy of my heart, and the boast of my tongue ; 
Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last. 
Hath Avon my aftectious, and bound my soul fast. 

"Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here, 
Sin soon would reduce me to utter despair ; 


Fad as o ghleann iomagain, 's o chùrain, 's o bhron, 

Tha i 'n coisir nan naonih ann an gloir ; 
A's saoileam, a iouad nan seraphim shuas, 

Gu'n cluiun mi binn fhuaim an cuid ceoil. 

^ •' Biodh slàint', agus gloir, agus gliocas, a's neart, 
Do'n Ti a fhuair has air a' cbraqn ! 
'S e saibhreas, a's urram, a's cumhachd a cheart, 
Mar eiric air tailceas a's call. 

Agus dhasan a dh' ionnlaid gu saor sinn 'na fhuil, 

O gach lochd, o gacli peacadh a's bend; 
'S a rinn saaairt a's righrean dhinne do Dhia, 

Biodh gloir agus urram gach re." 

'S ann mar so a tha'n fhirinn a' cur dhuinn an ceill, 
Mu na naoimb a tha 'seinn air a ghràdb, 

A tha 'dealradh fa chomhair mar ghathau na grein', 
A's le tlachd 'deanamh sgeil air gu bràch. 

Na guileadh a ceile, a càirdean, n'a clann — 

Cha'n aobhar dhuibh ann a bhi'caoidb; 
Diolaidb solas nan neamhan an diobradh a bh' ann, 

Gach mulad, gach deang, agus ciaoidh. 

An achanaich comhladh gu trie chuir iad suas 

Ag aslachadh tròcair a's gràs, 
Leis an te tha 'na suain anns an lion-aodach f huar, 

'S nach fhaic iad a suuadh gu la bhràth. 

Ged 'dh' f heumas an cruth sin do 'n d' thug sibhse luaidh 

Car seal anns an uaigh a bhi 'n tàmh, 
Gu grad thig a' mhaduinn 's am mosgail e suas 

Sàr oirdhearc a'm buaidh 's ann an ùiU'. 

An seann Chille-Chuimein bidh cuimhne gu buan 

Air caomhas's air suairceas na mnà: 
Ged 'ghabh i 'cead buan dhinn, cha diobair a luaidh 

Ann an inntiun an t-sluaigh 'thug dhi gradh. 


'■Air tròcairibh an Tighearna gu bràth seinnidh mi : o linn gu 
Jinn i'oillsichidh mi t'f hirinn le m' bheul." — Salm Ixxxix. 1. 

'S i do thi'òcair, lehobhah, tha dhomh na bun-sgeil — 
'Na h-aoibhneas do m' chridhe, 's ua h-uaill aun a'm' bheul 
Do shaor-ghràs a mhàin o thoiseach gu crich, 
x\ir m' aigne thug buaidh, 's chuir mo chridhe fo chis. 

Gun do thròcairean mills, cha 'n f haodainn bhi beò, 
Oil' peacadh mi-rianail rinn m' f hàgail gun treòir ; 


But through thy iree goodness, my spirits revive. 
And he that first made me, still keeps me alive. 

The door of thy mercy stands open all day 
To the poor and the needy who knock by the way 
No sinner shall ever be empty sent back. 
Who comes seeking mercy for Jesus's sake. 

Thy mercy in Jesus exempts me from hell ; 
Its glories I'll sing, and its wonders I'll tell : 
'Twas Jesus my friend when he hung on the tree, 
Who opened the channel of mercy for me. 


Far from these narrow scenes ot night 

Unbounded glories rise ; 
And realms of infinite d light, 

Unknown to mortal eyes. 

Fair distant land ! could mortal eyes 
But half its charms explore, 

How would our spirits long to rise, 
And dwell on earth no more. 

There pain and sickness never come, 
And grief no more complains ; 

Health triumphs in immortal bloom, 
And endless pleasure reigns. 

No cloud those blissful regions know, 

For ever bright and fair ; 
For sin, the source of mortal woe. 

Can never enter there. 

There no alternate night is known, ' 

Nor sun's faint sickly ray ; 
But glory from the sacred throne, 

Spreads everlasting day. 


What is the world ? a wildering maze, 
Where sin hath track'd ten thousand ways, 
Her victims to ensnare ; 


Acli trid do shaor-mhaitheas gu'n d' chum tlm mi sum. 
'S an Ti sin a dhealbh mi gu'n toir e dhomh buaidh. 

Tha dorus do tliròcair-se fosgailt gach la 
Do'n bhochd a's do'n f heumach a bhuaileas gach trà ; 
Agus peacaich thmagh, f halamh, a losa ni bun, 
Cha do chuir e uaith' falamh, 's am feasda cha chuir. 

'S i do thròcaìr an los' ni mo shaoradh o thruaigh' ; 
Air a ghlòir bidh mi 'seinn, a's air 'ioghnadh ni luaidh : 
'Se losa m' fhear-tagraidh, chaidh acheusadh a'm ait' 
S e 'n t-sHghe, 'se 'n f hirinn, nach diobair gu bràch. 


Fad as o shiantan dorch' an t-sao'il, 
Tha glòii' nach traoigh gu bràth ; 

A's ionad sona thar gach smaoin, 
Nach leur do dhaoin' an tràths' 

Am fearann àluinn fada, clan, 

Na'n tuigte trian d'a àgh, 
Ghrad dhùisgeadh ann ar n-anam miann 

'Bhi 'n sin gu siorruidh 'n tàmh. 

Ni mo bhios tinneas ann no pein, 
'S cha chluinitear eigh luchd-bròin ; 

Bidh slàint' a's òig' ann feadh gach re, 
'8 gach teang' air ghleus gu ceòl. 

Gu soilleir, deah-ach feadh gach uair, 
A' ghrian cha ghluais fo neul ; 

Oir peacadh, siol gach uile thruaigh' 
Cha d' teid a suas do nèamh. 

Cha bhi oidhch' ann feadh gach iall, 
'S cha bhual a' ghrian 'san>>là ; 

Oir glòir a' teachd o chathair Dhia, 
'S e sii; an grian gu bràch. 


CiOD e an saogh'l ach fàsach niòr ? 
'S an d' dhealbh am peac' deieh mìle'ròd, 
A chur a direich an sàs ; 


All broad, and winding, and aslope, 
All tempting with perfidious hope — 
All ending in despair. 

Millions of pilgrims throng those roads, 
Bearing their baubles, or their loads, 

Down to eternal night: 
One humble path that never bends — 
Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends 

From darkness unto light. 

Is there a guide to show that path ? 
The Bible ; — he alone who hath 

The Bible, need not stray ; 
Yet he who hath and will not give 
That heavenly guide to all that live, 

Himself shall lose the vray. 


All people that on earth do dwell. 
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice. 
Him serve with mirth, his praise forth tell. 
Come ye before him and rejoice. 

Know that the Lord is God indeed ; 
Without our aid he did us make; 
We are his flock, he doth us feed, 
And for his sheep he doth us take, 

! enter then his gates with praise, 
Approach with joy his courts unto: 
Praise, laud, and bless his name always, 
For it is seemly so to do. 

For why ? the Lord our God is good, 
His mercy is forever sure ; 
His truth at all times firmly stood. 
And shall from age to age endure. 

* In our Gaelic Psalms there is no long metre version of the 
C. Psalm. The translation given on the opposite page is by the 


lad uile leathann, lùbach, claon, 
A' gealltuinn solas do gach aon — 
Ach uile 'stad sa' bhàs. 

Na ròid sin tha do choigrich Ian, 
'S gach aon a' giulan uallaich fein, 

A sios do shlochd na caoidh : 
Tlia aon clieum foil, nach lùb am feasd,- 
Gu h-aimhlea'nn, doirbh a' direadh cas 

dhorchadas gu soills'. 

An t-slighe sin co leigeas ris ? 
Am Biobull; — cha ruig aon a leas 

Le 'BhiobuU dol o'n cheum ; 
Ach es' aig am bheil 's nach toir seach 
An neamh cheann-iuil so do gach neach. 

Air seachran theid e fein. 


Gach slògh d' an còmhnuidh 'n cruinne-ce 
Togaibh gu leir ait-cbliù do 'n Triath, 
Ri gairdeachas 'n ar Cruithf hear treun, 
Le 'r binn-cheòl èireadh cliù do 'r Dia. 

Dhuibh's fios gu'r h-esan Dia amhàin, 
'm bheil gach àl — ar dealbh 's ar deò, 
A threud sinn — 's biathaidh e gach tràth, 
'S ni dion a's àrach dhuinn ri 'r beò. 

Air dorsaibh 'àrois doirtibh 'steach, 

'Na chùirtibh ait', dha thigibh dliith, 

'S guth molaidh 's gàirdeachais gach neach 

A' luaidh air feartaibh Dhe nan dùl, ' 

Airson gu 'r mòr 's gu 'r maith ar Dia, 
Mu 'thròcair cbinntich 's maith bhi 'seinn ; 
'S 'f hirinn a sheas gu daingean riabh, 
Gu mair, feadh linutean siorruidh, leinn. 

Rev Angus Macintyre, Kinlochspelvie, Mull. We would respect- 
fully recommend its insertion in the next edition of the Psalms. 



Thus says the prophet of the Turk, 

'•' Good Mussulman abstain from pork, 

There is a part in every swine 

No friend nor follower of mine 

May taste, whate'er his inclination, 

On pain of excommunication." 

Such Mahomet's mysterious charge. 

And thus he left the point at large. 

Had he the sinful part express'd, 

They might with safety eat the rest ; 

But for one piece they thought it hard 

From the whole hog to he debarr'd ; 

And set their wit at work to find 

What joint the prophet had in mind. 

Much controversy straight arose ; 

These choose the hack, the belly those ; 

By some 'tis confidently said 

He meant not to forbid the head ; 

"While others at that doctrine rail, 

And piously prefer the tail. 

Thus, conscience freed from every clog, 

Mahometans eat up the hog. 

You laugh — 'tis, well — The tale applied 

May make you laugh on t'other side. 

"Renounce the world," the preacher cries, 

"We do," a multitude replies. 

While one as innocent regards 

A snug and friendly game at cards ; 

And one, whatever you may say, 

Can see no evil in a play ; 

Some love a concert, or a race ; 

And others shooting and the chase. 



Mar so, deir fàidhe mòr na Tuirc' 

" Tha earrann shònraichte do'n mhuic 

'S ma thacli'ras e aig am air bith, 

Gu'n ith fear leanmhuina ormsa dh'i, 

Sàsuichte' na ocrach, 's aon chuid e, 

lomsgarar e a mach a neamh." 

Cha d' innis Mahomet mar so, 

Am ball bha glan, n' am ball nach robh ; 

Na'ra biodh e air deanarah sin, 

Dh' itheadh iad a' chuid bha glan; 

Ach air son earrainn', shaoil iad cruaidh 

A' mhuc gu leir a bhacadh uath'; 

'S dh' f heuch iad gach doigh gu dheanamh 'macb. 

Cia 'm ball bha aig an fhàidh 'n a bheachd, 

Do thòisich iad o sin a mach, 

Ki connsach', strith, a's easonachd. 

Roghnuich a' bhuidheann so au druim, 

'S fearr leis a' bhuidheann ud a' bhroinn, 

Cuid eile leis am fearr an ceann, 

'Their nach 'eil cron na peacadh ann. 

Dream eile (cairdean do na Bairde) 

Tha 'g àicheadh so 's nach creid gu bràch e, 

Gu bheil 's an iorball lochd air bith 

A's uime sin gu feud iad ith' — 

Mar so, le coguis saor o shriau 

Gun eagal roimh Fhàidhe na liamh, 

Tha na Mahometich gun sgàth, 

Ag itheadh suas na muic' gach trath. 

A Chriosduidhean, tha sibh ri gaire, 

Ruibh fèÌD, ma seadh, an sgeula càiribh, 

'S feoraichibh do'r cridhe fein, 

'M bheil sibhse a' deanamh mar an ceudn'? 

",Trèigibh an saoghal," dubhrar ruibh, — 

" Tha sinne a' deanamh sin," deir sibh — 

'M feadh tha fear 'n ur measg am beachd 

'An cluith air chairtean nach 'eil lochd ; 

Fear eile thug do chleasachd toil, 

Nach creid gu bheil innt' beud no cron ; 

Fear leis an caomh bhi 'g eisdeachd ciùil, 

"S fear bhi falbh le gunn' a's cù, 


Reviled and loved, renounced and follow 'd 
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd ; 
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free, 
Yet likes a slice as well as he ; 
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, 
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. 


Like the fair rose in vernal pride, 
Or like the never-slumbering tide, 
Or like the blosson), fresh and gay, 
Or like the early dawn of day ; 
Or like the cloud 'midst tempest high, 
That floats across the stormy sky, — 
Even such is man, the heir of sorrow. 
Alive to-day, and dead to-morrow ! 
The blushing rose soon fades away, 
His course the ocean will not stay ; 
The blossom fades, the tempest flies. 
And man. the child of frailty, dies ! 

Or like a tale that soon is told, 
Or like a meadow gemm'd with gold. 
Or like a bird with plumage gay, 
Or like the genial dews of May, 
Or passing hour, or fleeting span, 
Even such, in all his pride, is man ! 
The grass decays, the tale is ended. 
The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended 
The span is short, the hour is past. 
And his long home man seeks at last ! 

Or like a bubble in the brook. 
Or glass, in which vain man doth look. 
Or shuttle sent from hand to hand. 
Or letters written on the sand ; 
Or like a thought, or like a dream, 
Or like an ever-gliding stream, — 
Even such is man, who soon will know 
That all is vanity below ! 


Fear leis am fearr bhi 'ruagadh feidh, 
'S fear bhi 'ruith air seang-each reis. 
Muc rahòr an t-sao'il, tha iad mar so 
Ag itheadh suas gu leir gach lò, 
Air nàbuidh chuir gach fear diubh beum ! 
Ach 's toigh leis caob cho maith ris feiu. 


'S an earrach mar bhios ailleachd ròis, 
No mòr shruth 'choidhch' nach gabhadh tàmh, 
'S mar bhlàth bhios ùrail le deadh-mhais', 
No camhanaich ro-mhoch an la : 
No mar na neòil feadh doinionn àrd, 
'Tha 'snamh air falbh 'measg ànraidh speur ; 
Mar sud an diiine, oighre bròin ! 
An diugh tha heò, 's a màireach eug ! 
Na ròsan, crionaidh sios gu luath, 
'S cha chuir an cuan a rian 'na thàmh ; 
Theid doinionn seach' "s na blaithean fòs, 
'S gheibh duine, mac na breòiteachd, has ! 

Mar sgeul a dh'innsear luath le beul, 

No miodar seudaichte le h-òr, 

No mar an t-eun le iteach iir, 

No driichda min a' cheitein òig ; 

'S mar uair 'na ruith, no siubhal reis. 

Mar sud tha neach gu leir le 'phròis ! 
Seargaidh 'm feur, tha 'n sgeula rèith, 
Tha'n t-eun air sgeith, tha 'n driichd 's na neoil 
Tha 'n reis ro-ghearr, tha'n uair 'nis seach, 
'S a bhuan-theach iarraidh neach fa-dheòidh I 

Mar bhuilgein sruth theid as gun dàil, 

No sgàthan 's an dearc duine ba, 

No mar an spàl o làimh gu làimh, 

No sgriobhadh tarr'ngte sios air tràigh ; 

No mar am bruadar, no mar smuain, 

No sruth 'bhios luath nach stad gu brach, 

Ceart amhuil duine 'chi gu grad 

Gur diomhanas gach dad air làr ! 


Bubbles our wasting lives betoken, 
The shuttle stops, the glass is broken ; 
No letters traced on sand remain, 
Our dreams are brief, our thoughts are vain 
And like the streams that passes by, 
Is man, who only lives to die ! 

Like Autumn's leaf, or like the snow, 

Or like the journey man doth go ; 

Or like the river's flow and ebb, 

Or like the patient spider's web ; 

Or like the fruit, or like the flower, 

Or like the short-lived April shower ; 

Even such is man who toils to gain 

The chafi" of the immortal grain ! 
The leaf decays, the snow is past, 
The roughest journey ends at last ; 
The web is torn, the shower is o'er, 
The fruit delights the taste no more ; 
The flower fades, the flood 's suspended, 
Man's hour is come and life is ended ! 

Or like an arrow through the air. 
Or like the lightning's sudden glare, 
Or like the vapour in the sky. 
Or like the goal for which we try. 
Or like the minstrel's pleasant song. 
Which we, tho' vain, would fain prolong ; 
Even such is life, with all its cares. 
Fast floating down the tide of years ! 
The arrow soon to earth declines. 
The lightning but a moment shines ; 
He stops who doth most sweetly sing ; 
The cloud is ever on the wing : 
The race, tho' hard, will soon be o'er, 
And living man be seen no more ! 

If every thing above, below, 
Aloud doth mortal's frailty shew ; 
If we, ere long, must take our flight 
From the revolving day and night, 
And our eternal portion be 
In realms of joy or misery : — 


Tha sruth ar beatha seach gun dail, 
Tha 'n sgàthan briste, stad an spàl ; 
Cha'n f haighear sgnobhadh air an tràigh, 
Tha'n aisling gearr, 's na smuaintean bà ; 
Mar shriith 'theid seacb le luasgan mòr 
Tha'n duine beò air son dol bas. 

Mar dhuilleig fhoghair', no mar shneachd. 

No turas neach gu crioch a sgeòìl ; 

Mar shruth nan allt 'theid sios 's a nios, 

'S mar lion an damhain-allaidh fhòil ; 

No mar bhiodh meas, no fòs am blàth, 

No frasan gearr a thig 's a' mhàrt, 

Mar sud tha neach a bhios ri spàirn 

Gu ni gun tabhachd bhi 'na làimh ! 

Tha 'n duilleag crion, 's an sneachd air falbh, 
'S tha 'n ceum is gairge seach fa-dheòidh ; 
Tha 'n f bras an ceiu, a's shrachd an lion, 
'S tha 'meas gun bhrigh do'n bhlas ni's mo ; 
Tha blàithibh seargta, sguir an tuil, 
So uair an duine, chaill e'n deò ! 

Mar shaighde 'falbh san iarmailt chein, 
N'an dealan treun is clise fiamh, 
No mar an deatach 'thig o'n speur, 
N'an reis air son am feuch sinn dian, 
No òran binn a sheinneas bard, 
'S ar miann gu ba gu'm biodh e buan ; 
Mar sud tha beath' le mile cràdh 
Mar shruth gu tràigh a' ruith gu luath ! 
Grad thig an t-saigbead chum an lair, 
Cha dealraich dealan ach car trath ; 
Theid fear nan òran binn na thàmh, 
Bidh neòil gach la air sgeith nan àrd ; 
Ge' cruaidh an reis theid as d'i fòs, 
'S cha'n f haicear duine beò ni's mo ! 

Mu nochdas nithe speur a's lair, 

Ar breòiteachd bhàsnihor le àrd èigh ; 

Mu dh'f heumas sinne triall gun dail, 

O'n la 's o'n oidhch' tha 'ruith a cheil' ; 

'S ar cuibhrionn siorruidh 'bhi 'san rioghachd 

'S am faighear sith no bròn gach re : — 


Let us no more in trifles spend 
Tlie life which must so shortly end ; 
But whilst the sun salutes our eyes, 
To righteousness and God arise. 
Let each who has a soul to save, 
Extend his views beyonds the grave ; 
And while salvation still is nigh, 
To Christ, the friend of sinners fly. 
So, when this fleeting state is o'er, 
And time with us shall he no more ; 
When e'en the elements around 
Shall in consuming flames be found, 
Upheld by faith, wc will not fear. 
For our redemption draweth near. 
[This Poem is transcribed from the Landsdowne MSS. British 
Museum, Parliamentary Collections, 498. It was composed 
about the beginning of the Seventeenth Century ; but the 
Author is not known. This version of it is considerably re- 
vised and modernized, as many of the terms used in the ori- 
ginal are now obsolete.] 


Of Man's first disobedience, and the h-uit 

Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 

Brought death into the world, and all our woe, 

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 

Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 

Sing heavenly muse, that on the secret top 

Of Horeb, or of Sinai didst inspire 

That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, 

In the beginning how the heaven and earth 

Rose out of chaos : or if Sion hill 

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed 

Fast by the oracle of God ; I thence 

Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, 

That with no middle flight intends to soar 

Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues 

Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 

And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer 

Before all temples the upright heart and pure. 

Instruct me, for thou kuowest ; Thou from the first 


Na caitheamaid air ni gun f heum 
A' blieatha 'dh'fheumas sgur do thriall, 
Ach f had 's a chi do shiiil a' glirian 
Thig dlùth air fireantachd 's air Dia. 
Gach anam leis am miann bhi saor 
Biodh aignean an taobh thall do'n uaigli 
'S am feadh 'tha slainte dhuit-se dliith 
Ri Caraid pheacach dliithaich luath. 
A chum, 'n uair bhios an staid so seach, 
'S nach t'hàgar tiom aig neach ni's mo, 
'S a bhios na diiilean fòs mu'n cuairt 
Air chall 'n an gual 's an lasair bheò, 
Gun cum neart creidimh geilt fad uain', 
'Chionn la ar fuasgladh dlùth gu leòir ! 


Mu chiad chiont' Adhaimh a choisiun cràdh d'a shliochd, 
'S mu mheas na craoibhe toirmisgt' thug oirnu sgrioa 
Chum bàis, le 'bhlas, 's a' chruitheachd lion le bròn 
'N uair chain siun Eden, gus am buaunaichd Neach 
Is trèin', as vir ar coir air Paras nèamh, 
Sèinn thus' a Spioraid nèarahaidh, 'las le h-eud 
Air mullach Horeib, no air beiun Shinai 
Geur bheachd a' chiobair sin, a nochd an tiis 
Do 'n chinneadh thaghte, mar a dh' eirich nèamh 
A's talamh suas o'n aibheis ; no ma b' f hearr 
Leat tàmh an cluain sliabh iir, àluinn Shìoin ; 
No sruth Shiloa 'ruith gu siubhlach 'sios 
Am fochar tagh-ghairra Dhe ; a's cònar leat 
Mo*dhàn le d' neart, 's e 'n tith air gniomh nach faoin — 
Cha'n ann am meadhon cùrsa gorm nan speur, 
Tha gheall air triall os cionn Pharnasuis àird, 
'N;tra thogar fonu leis, mar nach cualas riamh 
Bho shnas-chainnt seauachaidh, no o bhinn-ghloir bàird. 
Ach thus', ! Spioraid, 'g am bheil barrachd tlachd 
'S a' chridhe ghlan n'an teampuU 'tha fo'n glirein, 
! teagasg m' anam ; dhuit is aithne 'chilis, 
Oir shuidh thu'n tiis, le d' sgiathaibh sgaoilte 'mach 
Mu'n aigeal ihàs, 'nuair chinn e torrach, trom : 
Cuir soils' a'm inutinn, 's neartaich gleus mo thùir 
A chum 'sgu'n labhrainn suas le cumhachd dian, 
A' nochdadh freasdal siorruidh anus gach ni, 
Sa dh'fhirinneachadh slighe Dhe do'n t-sluagh. 


Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread 
Dove-like satest brooding on the dark abyss. 
And madest it pi'egnant ; what in me is dark 
Illumine, what is low raise and support ; 
That to the height of this great argument 
I may assert eternal providence, 
And justify the ways of God to men. 

Say first, for heaven hides nothing from thy view, 
Nor the deep tract of hell, say first what cause 
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state, 
Favoured by heaven so highly to fall ofl' 
From their Creator, and transgress his will 
For one restraint, lords of the world besides ? 
The infernal serpent ; he it Avas whose guile, 
StiiTed up witli envy and revenge, deceived 
The mother of mankind, what time his pride 
Had cast him out from heaven, with all his host 
Of rebel angels, by whose aid aspiring 
To set himself in glory 'bove his peers. 
He trusted to have equalled the most High, 
If he opposed ; and with ambitious aim 
Against the throne and monarchy of God 
Raised impious war in heaven and battle proud 
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power 
Turned headlong flaming from the ethereal sky. 
With hideous ruin and combustion, down 
To bottomless perdition, there to dweU 
In adamantine chains and penal fire, 
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms. 
Nine times the space that measures day and night 
To moi'tal men, he with his horrid crew 
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, 
Confounded though immortal : but his doom 
Reserved him to more wrath ; for now the thought, 
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain, 
Torments him ; round he throws his baleful eyes, 
That witnessed huge affliclion and dismay. 
Mixed with obdurate pride and stedfast hate : 
At once, as far as angels ken, he views 
The dismal situation waste and wild ; 
A dungeon horrible on all sides round 
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames 
No light, but rather darkness visible 
Served only to discover sights of woe, 
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace 
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes 
That comes to all ; but torture without end 
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed 


Leìg ris air tùs, oìr 'sleur dod' shùil o nèamh 
Gu aigein dorch' an t-sluichd, leig ris am fàth 
A ghluais ar sinusearra 'n an staid gun lochd 
Gu'n cùl a thoirt ri Dia, 's a lagh a bhrist', 
Ged bha gach ni 'n an seilbli ach aon a nihàin ? 
An natliair ifrinneach, 's e iaist le tnù, 
Le diogh'ltas agus ceilg, 's e 'mheall a' bhean, 
A chionn gu'n d'fhuadaicheadh à nèamh e 'niach 
Arson a ghiùlain chealgaicli, uaibhrich, bhuirb, 
Le 'bhuidhinn cheannaircich de dh'Ainglibh truagh, 
Le'n cònadh b' àill leis eiridh suas thar cliàich, 
'S tigh'nn gu bhi ionann ann an cliù 's an glòir, 
Le streup, ri mòralachd an Ti 's fior àird' ; 
An dùil gu'n rachadh aig' air gleachd, le buaidh, 
An aghaidh uachdranachd a's mòrachd Dliè, 
'S ann thug e ionnsuidh dhàna, choirbte, chlìth. 
Air còmhstri 'dhùsgadh ann an rioghachd nèamh ; 
Ach thilg an t-Uile chumhachdach e 'raacli 
Bho'n speur mar dhealauach, 'na lasair dheirg, 
Gu lèir-sgrios siorruidh sios do'n t-slochd gun ghrunnd, 
A ghabhail taimh 'an geimhleibii cruadhach, glaist' 
'S an teine lasrach, loisgeach, phiautach, dhian, 
A chionn gu'n d' dhiilauaich gu còmhrag anrt 
E 'n t-XJile-chomasach. jS'aoi làithean cian, 
'S cho lion'ar oidhch', mar thoimhsear tiom nam beò, 
Thug e le 'sgiobadh sgreataidh, air an claoidh, 
'S a' cur nan car dhiubh 'n dubhaigein a' bhròin, 
'Am breislich chràitich, 's nach tig bàs g'a choir : 
Oir dhit am Freasdal e gu barrachd feirg'. 
Tha chridh' 'g a spionadli as le smaoiutibh trom 
Mu'n àgh a chaill e, 'sgeilt roimli phein ri teachd. 
Bho 'shiiilean guineach dh'amhairc e mu'n cuairt 
Le sealladh uaibhreach 's an robh goimh a's grain ; 
'S nach fac' ach sgrios anacuibhseach, oillt, a's fiamh, 
Cho fad' 'sa thùradh Aiugeal chuunaeas leis 
Gu grad an t-ionad iargalt, fiadhaich, fas — 
Mor phriosan uamhasach, blio thaobh gu taobh 
'N a lasraichibh, mar thììirneis bhaoth 'nan càir ; 
A's as na lasraicbean cha'n f haicte soills', 
Ach dorcha foillseach anns an gann bu leur 
Gach sealladh eitidh bha r'a f haicinn aun, 
Fo sgàiltibh muladach 's air raontaibh bròin, 
Far nach dean sith no solas còmhnuidh 'chaoidh, 
'S nach taoghail dòchas 'thig a choir gach neach, 
Ach dòruinn bhuan gun chrioch, a ghreasar dian 
Le tuiltibh teinteach 'brùchdadh as gach laimh 
De phronnusg lasrach, dian-loisgeach nach caith. 
Kiun Ceartas bith- bhuautach an t-àit ud deas 


With ever-burnino; sulphur unconsumed ; 

.Such place eternal Justice had prepared 

For those rebellious, here their pri son ordained 

In utter darkness, and their portion set 

As far removed from God and light of heaven 

As from the centre thrice to the utmost pole. 

O how unlike the place from whence he fell ! 

There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed 

With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, 

He soon discerns, and weltering by his side 

One next himself in power, and next in crime, 

Long after known in Palestine, and named 

Beelzebub. To whom the Arch-enemy, 

And thence in heaven called Satan, with bold words 

Breaking the horrid silence thus began. — 


The pilgrim stands on famed Chaldea's plain, 

The immortal field of Glory's ancient reign : 

Hillah's small town is looming far away, 

And o"er the desert dies the golden day. 

What meets the eye ? no stately waving trees, 

No sweet-lipped llowers that scent the passing breeze ; 

Stern Desolation here hath reared her throne, 

And darldy calls this fated land her own. 

Vast mounds sweep 'round us, clothed with stunted grass, 

Or strewn with shattered urns and rings of brass ; 

And on and on they wind, and cross, and meet, 

Wrecks of fall'n towers, and many a gorgeous street. 

But who shall say, whore dwelt in former age. 

The high or low, the warrior, prince, or sage ? 

Wild asses browse where stood the Ninian gate. 

The lizard crawls where monarch's moved in state. 

In Beauty's rosy garden wormwood springs ; 

Where cooed Love's ring-doves, vulture flap their wings. 

To trace the walls' vast round skill vainly tries ; 

And o'er each shapeless ruin History sighs ; 

Man's last poor pride, the very tombs, are gone : — 

And this was famed, earth-conquering, Babylon ! 


Arson nan ceannairceach, 'g an glasadh suas 

A'm builsgein dorchadais, 's an crannchur leag 

Cho fad' air falbh bho Dliia 's bho sholus nèamh 

'Thrì fad' 's tha'n cruinne-c6 bho cheann gu ceann. 

O ! bu neo-choltach ris an ionad àigh 

Bho'n d' t hògradh iad an t-ait' an d'rinn iad stad ; 

Mu'n cuairt bha'n comunn a rinn tuiteam leis 

'N an sleibhtrich, air an claoidh le cathadh garbh 

De dh'eilibh beò, le conf hadli stoirm 'g a chur : 

Bha fear 'g a aoirneagan air làr r'a thaobh. 

An t-aon bu tin' air ann an olc 's an neart 

'Fhuair urram mùr a ris an tir Chanàan, 

'S e Beelsebub dha' b' ainm ; ris le briathraibh àrd, 

Bbo shàmhchair uatnhraidh, labhair an t-Ard nàmh, 

D'am b'ainm 'na dheigh sin Satan ann an nèamh. 


An sud bha Biib'lon mòr nan còmhnard rèidh, 

Blàr-iomairt greadhnachais nan linn o chein ; 

Tha baile Hilah 'snamh fad as, 's a' cheò, 

'S air gnùis an fhasaich crioch an la mar or. 

Ach c'àit' am bheil na craobhan àrda, trom, 

A's boltrach cùblu-aidh, tlàth, mhaoth-bhlàth nan torn. 

An so gach ni chuir làmh a' mhilteir fas, 

A's 'ainm tha sgriobht' air gntiis na tir 's gach àit'. 

Mu'n cuairt gach taobh tha druimnean lom gun sgèimk 

Ach bruachan sgapt' le sgealban phoitean ere.. 

Tha talla 'chiùil, 's an lùchairt, ghreadhnach, àrd 

An so nan smùr, gun smid an tosd a' bhàis : 

A's CO ni fheuchainn c'à'n do thàmh an righ, 

Am baoth-fhear Ian, an draoidh, no'm bochd gun ni. 

Tha còmhnuidh 'n f hiadh-bhea'ich far an d' iadh na slbigh 

"S tha 'nathair chiar an tigh nan diathau òir. 

Thug blaithean cùbhraidh 'n ait' do luibhean searbh, 

^ an colman theich roimh' sgread nam feithid' garg : 

A dion bhal' àrd cha lorgaich làmh ni's mo, 

'S tha thar gach làrach 'eachdraidh 'tàmh fo bhròu, 

A h-uaighean fein rinn fas 'n am blàrain lom, 

'S b'e so bail' uaibhreach, ainmeil BhàbUoin. 


Over Saul and Jonathan. — ii. Samuel, i. 19 — 2?.* 

I weep, for the glory of Israel is faded. 

Her power and her beauty in silence repose ; 

And hiUs, which the mantle of peace long has shaded, 

Xow echo the tread, and the triumph of foes. 

And how are thy mighty now fallen Judah ! 

The hater of Jacob exulteth afar ; 

Yes ! peals the glad note, to the downfal of Judah, — 

He laughs o'er the haToc, the writhings of war. 

Philistia's daughter, her idols adoring, 

May boast that the power of Jehovah is gone; 

Yet, Judah can sing, while her eye is deploring, 

The God of my fathers, I'll worship alone. 

I^roud hills of my counti^ ! Gilboa ! O never 

Shall dew-drop of morning thy green slopes adora ; 

Thy verdure is faded, and sterile for ever 

Shall be the rich fields of the victim forlorn. 

For there was the shield of the mighty averted, — 

The oil of anointing seemed pour'd forth in vain ; 

And feeble his arm, his standard deserted, 

The monarch, all childless, reclines with the slain. 

Yes ! changed is the time, nor eagle's broad pinion 

Could swifter shoot forth from his eyrie on high ; 

Nor lion, proud prince of a desert dominion, 

\\'ith Judah's lost princes, in pi-owess could vie. 

The star of the mighty, beneath the daik ocean 

Js Slink to repose, but its vivid light shone ; 

And the ray of its waning rekindles emotion, 

Through life undivided, in death they are one. 

Weep daughters of Israel ! the pride of your nation, 

Whose splendour bespangled these garments so gay ; 

Eecal the lost object of fond admiration, 

( ) ! pensively wcop o'er his mouldering clay. 

And why are they perished ! while garlands were weaving 

For brows that are steeped in oblivion's wave ; 

Lost pride of my heai-t ! were that bosom still heaving. 

But no — 'tis the leaden embrace of the grave. 

' I)r Kitto justly remarks, that the Lamentation of David over 
Saul and Jonathan is introduced by a strange parenthesis: " And 
David lamented with this lamentation over Saul and over Jonath- 
an his son : (also he bade them teach the children of Judah the tisc 
of the bow : behold, it is written in the book of Jasher.)" The 
words, the use of, are interpolated. Without them, the clause 

, 99 


Os ceann Shauil agus lonatain. — ii. Sam. i. 19 — 27. 

O ! tionusgain m' fhonn le tùirse trom gu liiaidh. 
Mar thuit an righ, nacli pill o'u strith le buaidh ; 
Oir Israel siar, a mhais', a inhiagU 'sa threòir 
Luidli ail- an t-sliabh, ach dheàrs a ghrian 's a ghlòir. 
'S a shleiblitean uaiu', mu'n trie rinn suaimhneas tàmli, 
Cha chluinn iad fuaim ach caithream-butidh' nan nàmh. 
Biodh tosd 's an t-saogh'l, — oir thuit na laoich le'm beurn, 
'S air slios nam beann tha 'n sgiath 's an lann gun f heum : 
'S their Gat nan dee, " Mo ghaisgich fein thug buaidh, 
A's ludah ghèill — biodh ainm a Dhe gun luaidh." 
O 'shleibhteau àigh ! an dealta tliith cha bhraon 
Mu 'r slios gu bràch, 's a' mhaise dh'f hag an raon ; 
Oir thuit na slòigh — bha 'n sgiath gu in fòir gun stàth, 
A's shearg fo leòn am mais', am beò, 's am blàth. 
Thuit righ nan euchd — thuit òg nam beus gun bhuaidh, 
'S an tosd a' bhàis am measg an air tha 'n uaigh ; 
Ach 's trie a sheinn an saighde srann sa' bhlàr, 
'S a bhoillsg an lann gu sgrios an nàimh san àr. 
Bu ghradhach, caoin 'nam beò na laoich a threig, 
A's thuit iad còmhla, 's luidh fo leòn an eig. 
Mar f hireun speur bha 'n liigh an rcidh nam blàr, 
'S mar phrionns' na frithe, treun gu strith nan àr. 
A nigh'nan ludah, guihbh dluth 'ur deòir, 
'S ur caoidh mu'n righ a dhiol dhuibh riomhadh oir, 
Chuir loinn a b' àù-d' air eideadh b' àiUidh sgiamh, 
'S a shoillsich sròl nan leug bu bhòidhche fiamh. 
C uim' thuit na slòigh bu bhoillsgeil glòir fo'n cruaidh, 
'S am bratach gheill, bu Treòir nan treun gu buaidh ? 
'S an gàirdean treun bu reachdmhor beum gun chlith, 
'S an làn-shùil fann bhiodh laiste 'n am na strith ? 
O òig nam beus ! a thuit fo bheum nan daoi, 
Bu chaomh rium fein, 's tu fàth mo dheur 's mo chaoidh — 
An òg-bhean chiùin cha taisbein tùs a gràdh 
D'a ceile òg, mar nochd thu dhomh-sa bàigh. 
Tha bròn ga m' chlaoidh, 's is trie le d' chuimhn' mo dheoir ! 
Mo ehreach ! mo chràdh ! tha 'm fiùran àigh gun treìiir ! 
C'uim' thuit na sloigh? Bha'n sgiath gu'm fòir gun stàth, 
A's shearg fo leòn am mais', am beò, 's am blàth. 

stands thus : " He bade them teach the children of Judah the 
Bow;'' suggesting that this was the title given to the lamentation 
itself, from the repeated mention of the bow in it. It is observable, 
adds Dr Kitto, that the translation of tlie Septuagint and of the 
older editions and manuscripts of the Vulgate are quite conform- 
able to this interpretation. 


I weep thy lost friendship — but vain is my soiTOw — 
The dead is the darhug of Judah no more ; 
Time's dream is advancing — God speed the glad morrow, 
When love is unending — when sighing is o'er. 


why art thou cast down my soul ! 

Say why, distrustful still, — 
Or wh}', with vain impatience, roll 

O'er scenes of future ill ? 

Let faith suppress each rising fear, 

Each anxious doubt exclude ; 
Thy Maker's will hath placed thee here ; 

Thy Maker wise and good. 

He to thy every trial knows 

Its just restraint to give ; 
Attentive to behold thy woes, 

And faithful to relieve. 

Though griefs unnumber'd throng thee round. 

Still in thy God confide, 
Whose finger marks the seas their bound, 

And curbs the headlong tide. 

And why art thou cast down my soul ! 

Say why, distrustful still, — 
Or why, with vain impatience, roll 

O'er scenes of future ill ? 


Pleasing spring again is here, 
Trees and fields in bloom appear; 
Hark ! the birds with artless lays 
Warble the Creator's praise. 
Where, in winter, all was snow. 
Now the flowers in clusters grow 
And the corn, in green array, 
Fromises a harvest-day. 


'S their Gat nan dee, " Mo ghaisgich fein thug buaidh ; 
A's Israel ghèill — biodh ainm a Dhe gun luaidh ;" 
Ach ludah ait gu'n seiun, 'n uair 's frasaich\deòir, 
" 'S e Triath nan speur mo Thaice threuu 's mo Threòir. 


C'ar son, Om' anam, tha thu trom ! 

A's an-earbsach do ghnàth, — 
'S do smuaintean 'ruith neo-fhaighidneack 

Air uilc tha fad o làimh ? 

Deanadh do chreideamh tosd a chur 

Air t'uile smuaintean bras ; 
'Se Dia a dh' òrduich thu bhi'n so. 

An Dia 'ta glic a's maith. 

A's cuiridh Esan crioch 'na thrà, 

Ri d' thrioblaid a's ri d' leòn ; 
Oir bheirear leis ta'near do chaoidh, 

A's saorar thu o bhròn. 

Ged bhitheas do thrioblaidean mor, 

Earb thus' a ghnà a Dia ; 
'S i 'làmh a chuireas crioch roi 'n mhuir, 

'S a thionndas stoirm gu fiath. 

■'S C ar son a tha thu, anaim, trom, 

A's an-earbsach do ghna, — 
'S do smuaintean 'ruith neo-f haighidneach, 

Air uDc tha fad o laimh ? 


Thainig a ris an t-earrach àigh, 

Tha 'choill 's na loin a' fas fo bhlàth ; 

Cluinn ! na h-eoin le 'n ceileir sèimh 

'Seinn chu d 'an Cruith'ear a th'air nèamh. 

Tha 'n t-àit' bha 'n sneachd' sa gheamhradh 'còmh- 

Nis air fas fo stràchd do neòinein ; [dach 

'S am fochunn ùrar, bileach, uaine 

'Gealltuinn gu'n tig la na buanadh. 


What a change has taken place ! 
Emblem of the spring of grace ; 
How the soul, in winter, mourns 
Till the Lord, the Sun, returns ; 
Till the Spirit's gentle rain 
Bids the heart revive again ; 
Then the stone is turned to flesh, 
And each grace springs forth afresh. 

Lord, aflford a spring to me, 

Let me feel like what I see ; 

Ah ! ray winter has been long, 

Chill'd my hopes, and stopp'd my song : 

Winter threatened to destroy 

Faith, and love, and every joy ; 

If thy life was in the root, 

Still I could not yield the fruit. 

Speak, and by thy gracious voice 
Make my drooping soul rejoice : 
! beloved Saviour, haste, 
Tell me all the storms are past : 
On thy garden deign to smile, 
Eaise the plant, enrich the soil ; 
Soon thy presence will restore 
Life to all was dead before. 

Lord, I' long to be at home. 
Where these changes never come ! 
Where the saints no winter fear. 
Where 'tis spring throughout the year : 
How unlike this state below. 
There the flowers unwithering blow ; 
There no chilling blasts annoy, 
All is love, and bloom, and joy.* 

* The above, as well as the "Covenanter's Dream," "Field 
Flowers," and " Verses supposed to have ))een written by Alexan- 
der Selkirk," hare been translated by the late James Clerk, Black- 
sniitli, I'rom Kilbrandon, Argylesliire. HJr Clerk was a young man 
of superior literary attainments, and from the taste and ability he 
ilispjayed in translating both prose and poetry, he gave great pro- 


Nach 'eil an caochladh th'ann an tràs' 
Na shamhladh fior air earracli gràis ? 
Mar ni'n t-anam bròn 'na gheamhradh 
Gus am pilll Dia a' glirian d'a ionnsuidli ; 
Gus an dean dealta tlath nan gràs 
An cridh' atli-bheothachadh gu fas : 
'N sin iompaichear gu feòil a' chlach, 
A's brììclidaidh ùr gach gràs a mach. 

A Thigbearna thoir m' earrach dbomhsa, 
Mar a chi mi [leig dhomb mbo'chainn ; 
Ah ! 'se mo gbeambradh-sa bba buan, 
Chrion mo dbòchas, stad mo dhuan : 
An geamhradh bbagair sgrios gun bbàigh 
Air solas, dòcbas, agns gràdh ; 
Do bheatha-sa 'san fhreumh ma bha 
Cha tug mi toradb mach no blàth. 

Labhair a nis gu bàigheil rium, 
Slànuich m' anara tiirsach, trom ; 
! Shlàn'f hir ionmhuinn ambairc orm, 
Innis domh gu'n d'fhalbh an stoirm : 
Air do lies neo-thorach seall, 
Tog a bhlàitbean, reamhraich fhonn ; 
Bheir do gbnùis-sa 'cbb'sgeadb fas 
Do gach ni bha thun dol has. 

Tha fadal orm gu bhi san ait' 

Air nach bi caochladh tigh'nn gu bràch ! 

Far nach cuir an geamhradh fiamh, 

Far an earrach fad na bliadhn' : 

Fonn an aoibbneis, tir an àigh, 

Far nach crion 's nach searg am blàth ; 

Cha bhi cranntachd ann no fuachd, 

Ach solas, gràdh, a's àilleachd nuadb. 

mise of future usefulness. He died in Glasgow, after a short ill- 
ness, on the 20lh November, 1845; and, considering his christian 
walk and conversation, there is cause to hope that he is one of the 
'•lessed inhabitants of that glorious country, — 
" Where the saints no winter fear, 
Where 'tis spring throughout the year." 



The loud wind roared, the rain fell fast, 
The white man yielded to the blast ; 
He sat him down beneath our tree. 
For weary, sad and faint was he : 
And Ah ! no wife or mother's care. 
For him the milk and corn prepare. 

The storm is o'er, the tempest past, 
And Mercy's voice has hush'd the blast 
The wind is heard in whispers low, 
The white man far away must go ; — 
But ever in his heart will bear 
Remembrance of the Xegro's care. 


The white man shall our pity share, 
Alas I no wife or mother's care, 
For him the milk or corn prepare. 
Go white man, co ; but with thee bear 
The Negro's wish, the Negro's prayer. 
Remembrance of a Negro's care. 


When, marshall'd on the nightly plain. 
The glittering host bestud the sky : 

One star alone of all the train, 
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. 

Hark ! hark I to God the chorus breaks. 
From every host, from every gem ; 

• Mungo Park, the African Traveller, says: — "About sunset, 
a woman, returning from the labours of the field observed rae sit- 
ting under the shade of a tree where I intended to have passed the 
nis;ht, and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired into 
my situation ; which being explained she told me to follow her. 
Having conducted me to her hut she lighted a lamp, spread a mat 
on the floor, and then presented me with a fine fish, half broiled. 
She then called the female part of her family to resume their task 
<>i spinning cotton, in which they were employed during a great 
part of the nifrht. They soothed their labour by songs ; one of 
which was extempore, and myself the subject of it." The above 



Na gaothaa sheid gu coimheach, fuar, 
A's bhrùclid a nuas an t-uisge trom ; 
Au duine geal a stigli cha d' f huair, 
Ge b'olc a tliuar a mach air lorn. 

An ciar' an anmoicli shuidh e sios 
A ghabhail fois fo sgaile craoibh' ; 
Oir bha e fann, a's Ian do sgios — 
Bu dubhach, diblidh cor au aoidh,' 

! cha 'n 'eil aige màthair tlilàth 
A bheir o ùth ua bà am bliochd ; 
No cèile 'sheallas ris gu blàth, 
'S a mheileas dha an gran le h-iochd. 


Gu'u gabh sinn ris le iochd a's baigh — 
Gu'n noclid sin càirdeas dha a's miagh : 
Cha'n fhaigh e baiun' o 'mhàthair àigh, 
A's cèile gràidh cha toir dha biadh. 


'N uair tha reulta àrd nan speur, 

A' dealradh le cheil' san larmalt shuas ; 

'N am measg gu leir tha lòchrann iùil, 
A thàirneas sùil a' pheacaich thruaigh. 

Eisd ! eisd ! do Dhia tha cho'sheirra bhinn, 
reulta grinn a' ghuirm bhrait àird ; 

is a translation of the song. The following- is another version of 
it, from the pen of John Struthers, author of " The Peasant's 
Death- Bed," &c., &c. 

The winds they were roaring, the rains tliey were pouring, 

When lonely the white man a wonder to see : 
Both hungry and weary, desponding and dreary, 

He came and he sat in the shade of our tree. 
No mother is bye him, with milk to supply him; 

He wanders an outeast, how sad must he be ? 
Even corn, could he hud it, he has no wife to grind it ; 
Let us pity the white man, no mother has he. 


But one alone the Saviour speaks, 
It is the star of Bethlehem. 

Once on the raging seas I rode, 

The storm was loud, the night was dark ; 
The ocean yawn'd, — and rudely blow'd 

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark. 

Deep horror then my vitals froze, 

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem ; 

When suddenly a star arose, 
it was the Star of Bethlehem. 

It was my guide, my light, my all, 
It bade my dark forebodings cease ; 

And through the storm, and danger's thrall. 
It led me to tiie port of peace. 

Now, safely moor'd — my perils o'er, 
I'll sing, first in night's diadem, 

For ever and for evermore. 

The Star .'—The Star of Bethlehem ! 


" In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of 
David, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin and tor 
uucleanness." — Zechariah, siii. 1. 

O the Lamb ! the bleeding Lamb! 

The Lamb on Calvary ; 
The Lamb that was slainj 
And has risen again, 

And now intercedes for me. • 

There is a fountain fiU'd with blood 

Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ; 
And sinners plung'd beneath that flood, 

Lose all their guilty stains. 

Ò the Lamb, &c. 

* VVhen the late Mr Duncan 3Iacdougall, Tiree, translated this 
Hvmn to Gaelic, he adapted it to an original but most touch 


Tha h-aon a mhain 'toirt sgeul mu Chriosd, 
Reul Bhetleheim ! Reul an àigh ! 

Tlìuit dhomh uair bhi niacli air chuan, 

Blia 'n oi'che duaichnidh — sheid a* ghaoith , 

Dh'at an cuan, 's bha siopan fairg', 

Ag ia'dh gu garbh m'an eithear fhaoin. ' 

Ghlac uamhann eagail ra'anam bochd, 
'S mi mach air faontra' fad o tliràigh ; 

'N uair dh'eirich Reul rinn dhomh-sa iiit, 
Reul Bhetleheim I Reul an àigh. 

Mo sholus ait, mo lòchrann gaoil, 

An sealladh faoilt do m' cliridhe sgith, 

^hàbhadh cuain, 's o ghlaic a' bhàis, 
'S tu thàlaidh mi gu caladh sith. 

'S a clialadh ait so ni mi tàmh, 

Gun sgios, gun phràmh gu'n seinn mi cliii 
O'n am so mach gu siorruidh buan, 

Do Reul nam buadh a rinn domh iiil. 


Anns an la sin bidh tobar air fhosgladh do thigh Dhaibhidh, 
-us do luchd-àiteachaidb lerusaleim, air son peacaidh agus air 
111 iieo gbloine.''— Secbariah, xiii. 1. 

Och an t-Uan ! 's fhuil a'sileadh a nuas; 

An t-Uan air Calbhari, 
An t-Uan a chasgradb gu has, 
'S a ris a dh'eirich an àird, 

Nis a' tagradh le gràdh mo shlth. 

Tha tobar aun 's e Ian do dh' fhuil 
Tha tàirnt' o chuisHbh los' ; 

Gach peacach 'thilgear sios fo'n tuil, 
Glan buileach thig e nios. 

Och an t-Uan, &c. 

ing Air ; and prefixed a Seisd, or Chorus, to it. He also pre- 
fixed the substance of that Chorus to the original. 


The dying thief rejoic'd to see 

That fountain in his day ; 
And there have I, as vile as he, 

Wash'd all my sins away. 

the Lamb, &c. 

Dear dying Lamb ! thy precious blood 

Shall never lose its power, 
Till all the ransom 'd church of God 

Be sav'd to sin no more. 

O the Lamb, &c. 

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream 

Thy flowing wounds supply. 
Redeeming love has been mv theme. 

And shall be till I die. 

the Lamb, &c; 

Then in a nobler, sweeter song 

I'll sing thy pow'r to save, 
"When this poor lisping, stam'ring tongue 

Lies silent in the grave. 

O the Lamb, &c. 

Lord, I believe thou hast prepar'd 

(Unworthy though I be) 
For me a blood-bought fiee reward — - 

A golden harp for me. 

the Lamb, &c. 

'Tis strung, and tun'd, for endless years, 
And form'd by pow'r divine ; 

To sound in God the Father's ears 
No other name but thine. 

the Lamb, &c. 


One morning, in the month of May, 

I wander'd o'er the hill ; 
Tho' nature all around was gay. 

My heart was heavy still. 

Can God, I thought, the just, the great, 
These meaner creatures bless. 


Kinn an gadaich' dan' ri uchd a' bhàis 

Mòr ghàirdeachas na brìgh ; 
'S nach f haodar leams', co'ionnan coirbt', 

Mo pheac'au ionnlad innt'. 

Och an t-Uan, &c 

Och Uain a ghràidh ! t' fhuil phriseil, bhlàth 

Cha chain gu bràtli a brigh, 
Gus am bi 'mhuinntir shaort' air fad 

O 'm peac'au glan d'a trid. 

Och an t-Uan, &c. 

On'dhearc mo shùil ri d' chreuchdaibh ciùirt' 

A' brùchdadii cungaidh slàint', 
Gràdh saoraidh an Uain mo cheòl 's mo 

'S a bhios gu uaii- mo bhàis. [bhuaidh, 
Och an t-Uan, &c. 

"N sin seinneam òran 's milse ceòì 

Air cumhachd mòr do ghràis, 
'N uair bhios an teanga mhanntach; thruagh 

Gu balbh 'san uaigh ua tàmh. 

Och an t-Uan, &c. 

Dhe creideam fein, gu 'n d' uimhaich thu, 

(Neo-airidh 's mar tha mi) 
'S ann air mo shon. luach fola saor — 

Seadh, clarsach òlr dhomh fein. 

Och an t-Uan, &c. 

Chuu- cumhachd mòr gach tend air dòigh, 

Gu ceòl air feadh gach re, 
Gu seirm 'an cluasan Righ nan sluagh, 

'S gun ainm ach Uan na rèit'. 

Och an t-Uan, &c. 


Dh'f halbh mi moch sa' Cheiteau chiùin 
Air chuairt ri uchd nan torn ; 

Bha'n saoghal àillidh, aoibhinn, ait, 
Mo chridhe 'mhàin bha trom. 

A' bheil gach àite, smuaintich mi, 
Le maitheas Dè cho Ian, 


And yet deny to man's estate 
The boon of happiness. 

Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains, — 

Ye blessed birds around, 
In which of nature's wide domains 

Can bliss for man be found ! 

The birds wild caroU'd o'er my head, 
The breeze around me blew, 

And nature's awful chorus said — 
^0 bliss for man she knew. 

I question'd Love, whose early ray 

So rosy bright appears, 
And heard the timid genius say 

His light was dimm'd by tears. 

I question'd Friendship, but she sigh'd, 
And thus her answer gave — 

The few whom fortune never turn'd 
Were mould 'ring in the grave. 

I ask'd if Vice could bliss bestow ? 

Vice boasted loud and well ; 
But, fading from her wither'd brow, 

The borrowed roses fell. 

I sought of Feeling, if her skill 
Could soothe the wounded breast ; 

And found her mouring, faint, and still, 
For others' woes distress'd. 

I question'd Virtue, but she sigh'd, 
No boon could she dispense — 

Kor Virtue was her name, she cried, 
But humble Penitence. 

I asked Death — the grisly shade 
E-elax'd his brow severe ; — 

And " I am happiness,'' he said, 
" If Jesus guides thee here." 

H Y M N.— Mat. vi. 25. 
Whence this fruitless mourning ? 
Christians, why those tears ? 


'S an diùlt e soaas, seasmhach, buan. 
Do m' chridhe trom a mhàin ? 

Labhradh a' choill — O ! 's binn na h-eoin ; 

Labhradh gach glac a's cluan, 
'Bheil ait' air bith san t-saoghal mhòr, 

Am faigh mi sonaa buan ? 

Ach sbeinn na h-eoin os cionn mo chinn, 

A's shèid a' ghaoith gu tlàth ; 
Buan shonas cha 'n 'eil agaiun duit, 

Chualas gach guth ag ràdh. 

'N sin dh' f heòraich mi do Ghaol nam buadh 
'N robh solas buan fo'n ghrein ? 

Cha 'n f hiosrach mi, deir e, fo bhiòn, 
'S na deòir na shùihbh fèin. 

Dh' fheòraich mi cheist do Chàirdeas blàth, 

Fhreagair e mi gu luath ; 
Tha dàimh mo ghràidh nach diobradh mi 

'Nan sineadh auns an uaigh. 

Làn shonas thairg dhomh Baobh an uilc, 

Na'n tugainn dhise geill ; 
Dh' at i le h-uaill, — a's chunnaic mi 

Gur breug a bha 'na beul. 

Ghuidh mi'n sin air Caoimhneas caomh 

Mo bheannachadh le sith ; 
Ach fhuair mi ise brònach, fann 

Mu dhàirah a bh'ann an dith. 

Gu Deadh-bheus àillidh chaidh mi'n sin, 

Chuala mi cnead na com ; 
'S e 's ainm a nis dhomh, fhreagair i, 

Aithreachas tiamhaidh, trom. 

Ràinig mi righ nam fiamh, am has ; 

Ach labhair e gu fòill, 
" Is sonas mi nach meall gu brath 

Na thig tre Chriosd a'm' choir. 

LAOIDH.— Mata vi. 25. 
Carson tha 'n t-ionracan fo sprochd, 
A' triall roi' ghleann nan deur ? 


Why give way to sadness, 
Doubts and anxious fears? 

Grieve no more, desponding : 
On your God rely — 

Mark, He feeds the ravens, 
Hears their young ones cry. 

He the spotless lilies 

Clothes in dazzling white ; 
Say, what monarch's Sfilendour 

Half so pure and briglit ? 
Since the fowls and flowers 

Are objects of his care, 
Much more, Jesus tells, 

Saints his love shall share. 


Begone unbelief, my Saviour is near 

And for my relief will surely appear; 

By prayer let me wrestle, and he will perform. 

With Christ in the vessel I smile at the storm. 

Though dark be my way, since he is my guide, 

'Tis mine to obey, 'tis his to provide ; 

Though cisterns be broken, and creatures all fail, 

The words he has spoken shall surely prevail. 

His love in times past forbids me to think 

He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink ; 

Each sweet Ebenezer I have in review 

Confirms his good pleasure to help me quite through. 

Desirous to save, he watch'd o'er my path. 

When, Satan's blind slave, I sported" with death ; 

And can he have taught me to trust in his name. 

An thus far have brought me to put me to shame ? 

Why should I complain of want or distress, 

Temptation or pain? He told me no less ; 

The heirs of salvation, I know from his word. 

Through much tribulation must follow their Lord. 

How bitter that cup, no heart can conceive, 

Which he drank all up, that sinners minht live ! 

His way was much rougher and darker than mine ; 

Did Jesus thus suffer and shall 1 repine ? 

Since all that I meet shall work for ray good, 

The bitter is sweet, the med'cine is food ; 

Though painful at present, 'twill cease before long;-. 

And then, how pleasant the conqueror's song^ 


An diobair Dia e 'nam na h-airc, 
Nach dean e taic 'n a f heum ? 

Feiich eoin nan speur tha 'seinn gu binn, 
Cha chuir iad siol 's cha bhuain ; 

Gidheadh tha Dia a' freasdal doibh, 
Le eaoimhneas, càirdeìl, buan. 

Feuch blaithean maotli nan cluaintean ùr, 

Cha saoth'raich iad, 's cha sniomh ; 
Gidheadh air Solamh fein cha robh 

Deise cho àillidh riamh. 
An Dia a dh'èisdeas gairm nan eun, 

'S a chòmhdaicheas gach blath, 
Nach solair e do'n Chriosdaidh chaomh 

A mhaoin o la gu la. 


An earbsa bi 'siubhal, mo Shlàn'ear tha'm cliuideachd, 

'S e toileach, a's muirach air ni' fhurtachd a'm fheum ; 

Sior ghleachdam le h-iirnuigh, 's ni esau an turn domh — 

Le Tosa 'gam stiuradh cha chùram learn beud. 

<ied is doilleir an rod domh 'ghnàth gèilleam d'a òrdugh 

'S ni esan mo shebladh, 's bheir Ion domh gun dith : 

Cied fhàilnich gu buileach gach creutair sa' chruinne, 

<iach focal a thuirt thig uile gu crich. 

Tha 'ghràdh'bha cho caoin domh a' bacadh dhomh shaoilsina 

Gu'm fag 6 ri m' shaogh'l mi am aonar gun taic' : 

Tha h-uil' Ebeneser mar chuimhneachan feumail, 

'G ràdh, " Thug 's bheir e Fein as gach eigin thu mach." 

Gum' aiseag gu slàinte chaomhfhair e mo ghnàth'chadb, 

Traill Shatain 'n uair bha mi, ag abhachd ri sgrios : 

'S an d' rinn e mo threorach 'chur ann-san mo dhòchais, 

"S am fag e gu brouach 'an doruinn mi 'uis ? 

C'uim' bhithinn fo anntlachd 'thaobh easbhuidh no amhghar 

Gach trioblaid a'm' chrannchur roimh laimh nochd e fein; 

"S tre dheuchainnibh goirte, mar 's fios domh o 'Fhocal, 

Tha oighreachan sonais 'ga lorgach' 'sgach ceum. 

Cho searbh 'sa bha 'n cup' sin cha bhreithnich aon duine, 

'Dh'òl losa gu buileach, a' fulang 'n ait' dhaoin' ! 

B'i 'shiigh'-s' bu doimhich', 's bu sheirbhe gun choimeas, 

O ! anaim faic f hoigh'dinn 's o 'oideas na claon. 

4) n' dh'aomas a fhreasdal gach aon ni gum' leas domh, 

Is milis a mheasam gach leigheas uaith' Fein : 

An drùsd ann an àirceas, ach 'n aithghearr' an aiteas, 

S^nsia.O cia taitueach buaidh-chaithream a sheiun! 



[The following thrilling lines on the total abolition of West In- 
dian Slavery were written by Mrs Garret, a lady well known 
for her liberality and other amiable qualities.] 

Oh ! heard ye that groan that ascended to heaven ? 
Oh ! saw ye that tear as the torture was given ? 
Or niark'd ye the anguish, despairing and wild, 
Of the mother who gaz'd on her nianacrd child ? 

' Twas the last, for the reign of oppression is o'er — 
'Twas the last, for her son shall be fetter'd no more ! 
The Angel of mercy has broken his chain. 
And liberty blesses the negro again. 

Then sound the loud timbrel oer India's wide sea, 
Jehovah has triumph'd, his people are free ! 
Jehovah has granted the captive release. 
And the mandate has issued, " Let slavery cease ! " 


'Twas when the sea's tremendous roar 

A little bark assail' d, 
And pallid fear, with awful power, 

O'er all on board prevail'd. 

Save one, the captain's darling child, 
Who, fearless, viewed the storm. 

And playful, with composure, srail'd 
At danger's threat'ning form. 

"AVhy sporting thus ? " a seaman cried, 

" "Whilst sorrows overwhelm," 
" Why yield to grief ? " the boy replied, 

" My father's at the helm." 

Despairing soul ! from hence be taught 

How groundless is thy fear ; 
Think on what wonders Christ has wrought, 

And he is always near. 

Safe in his hands, whom seas obey, 

When swelling billows rise ; 
Who turn the darkest night to day. 

And brightens lowering skies. 



An cuala tu 'n glaodh sin a dh'eirich gu h àrd — 

An acain, an caoidh, a's ua h-osnaichean cràidh ? 

Am faca tu deurau a' chiomaich gu trom 

Mar f hrasan nan speuran a' sileadh air fonn ? 

O ! 'm faca tu cò bha 'na seasamh r'a thaobh, 

A' coimhead air dòlasan cràiteach a gaoil — 

A' bualadh a h-uchd agus deòir air a gruaidh, 

Gun chomas a cèile a shaoradh o thruaigh' ? 

Ach dh'eirich an glaodh ud gu righ-chathair Dhe, 

'S bhrist Angeal na saorsa na cuibhrichean geur — 

Tha Daorsa a nis anu an daorsa i fein — 

Tha mhàthair 's a maothran a' mireadh le chèil' ! 

'Nis seidibh an trompaid — biodb an tiompan air ghleus, 

Tha buaidh le lehòbhah — tha 'phobull gu leir 

O shàrachadh cruaidh an luchd-foireignidh saor; 

Oir 's i 'n àithne a chualas, " Biodh ciomaich fa sgaoil.' 


Dh'eirich an f hairge, 's sheid a' ghaoth, 

A's b'aobhar oillt an fhuaim. 
Do n' h-uile aon san eithear f haoin 

Air faontra' feadh a' chuain. 

Ach mac an sgiobair, balachau maoth, 
Ohual' e gim gheilt an toirm ; 

Fiamh aileis àrd gu'n robh 'na ghuùis, 
Gun srauairean air roi'n stoirm. 

Dh'fheòraich aon do'n sgiobadh dheth 

C'arson bha e oho ciùin ? 
" Cha 'n eagal domh-sa,'' f hreagair e, 

" Tha m' athair air an stiiiirJ' 

Mar so, 'n uair dhiobras solas sinn, 

'S an cridh' le dòlas Ian, 
Tha acair dhaingean ann nacli treig, 

'S e Dia is Dia amhàin. 

R'ar n-urnuigh cromaidh Dia a chluas, 
A's fuasgladh luath bheir dhuinn ; 

Ar deòir gu aiteas tionndaidh e — 
Gu aoibhneas fàth ar teinn. 


Then upward look, liowe'er dietress'd, 
Jesus will guide thee home, 

To that blest port of endless rest, 
Where storms shall never come. 

Hush ! my Dear, lie still and slumber, 

Holy Angels guard thy bed I 
Heavenly blessings without number. 

Gently falling on thy head. 

Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment. 
House and home thy friends provide ; 

All without thy care and payment, 
All thy wants are well supplied. 

How much better thou'rt attended 
Than the son of God could be, 

When from heaven he descended, 
And became a child like thee ? 

Soft and easy is thy cradle : 

Coarse and hard the Saviour lay ; 

When his birth-place was a stable. 
And his softest bed was hay. 

Blessed Babe ! what glorious features, 
Spotless fair, divinely bright ! 

ilust he dwell with brutal creatures ? 
How could angels bear the sight ! 

"Was there nothing but a manger 

Wicked sinners could afford 
To receive the heavenly stranger ? 

Did they thus affront their Lord ! 

Soft my child : I did not chide thee, 

Though my song might sound too hard 

'Tis thy mother sits beside thee, 
And her arm shall be thy guard. 

Yet to read the shameful story, 
How the Jews abused their King : 

How they served the Lord of glory 
Makes me angry while I sing. 


'Measg àmhgharaibh an t-saogliail thruaigh 

Earbaibli a Dia nan dùl, 
Ag ràdh au la na gaillinn chruaidh, 

" Tha m' Athair air an stiiiir." 


Bà ! mo leanabh, caidil sàmbacli, 
Ainglean àghmhor 'bhi ort teann ! 

Driùcbdadh beannacbdan gun àireaiuh 
As na b-àrdaibh air do cbeann. 

Caidil 'eudail ! cba'n 'eil eis ort ; 

T'fbàrdacb, t'èideadh, a's do Ion 
Solaraidb do cbairdean fein duit, 

'S cba'n iarr eiric uait, no or. 

'S fearr do gbiuUachd agus t'àilleas 
Na bba caramb caomb Mbic Dhe, 

'N uair a tbiiirling e o'n àirde — 

'Db'i'bàs 'na phàisdeiu mar tbu fein. 

Tha do cbreatball socracb, blatb fo'd — 
Bba do Shlànuighear gun ghleus ; 

'S ann a rugadh e 'an stàbuU, 
'S bi a leaba stàta feur. 

Leanabb gràsmbor a cbrutb àluinn ! 

Mac an Ard-rigb, gnuis na sgeimb ! 
'Measg nam brùid a' gabbail fardaicb, 

Fath chur cràidb air sluagb nan nèatnb ! 

Nacb robb ionad acb a' pbrasach 
Aig na peacaich bbaolh, gu dion 

A chur air an aoidbe mhaiseacb Ì — 
Peucb mar mbaslaicb iad an Triatb ! 

Cuist, a gbràidb ! cha d' tbug mi gràchd ort, 
Ged bha fonn mo dbàin car searbh ; 

'S i do mbàtbair a ta lamb riut, 
'Sni a gàirdeana do tbearm'. 

Ach air cuimbiieacbadb an sgeoil domb, 
Mar bba Rigb na glòir' an teinn, 

Aig na b-Iudbaicb mar f hear dò-bheairt, 
'S e chuir dorran orm 's mi 'seinn. 


Lo, he slumbers in the manger, 

Where the horned oxen fed ; 
Peace, my darling here 's no danger, 

Here 's no ox beside thy bed. 

'Twas to save thee, child, from dying — 

Save my dear from burning flame, 
Bitter groans, and endless crying, 
That thy blessed Redeemer came. 

May'st thou live lo know and fear him, 
Trust and love him all thy days ! 

Then go, dwell for ever near him. 
See his face, and sing his praise. 

I could give thee thousand kisses, 

Hoping what I most desire : 
Not a mother's fondest wishes 

Can to greater joys aspire. 


Child. — I saw the clorious sun arise 

From yonder mountain grey ; 
And as he travelled through the sky 

The darkness fled away. 
And all around me was so bright— 
I wished it would be always light. 

But when his shining course was done, 

The gentle moon drew nigh, 
And stars came twinkling, one by one. 

Upon the shady sky : — 
Who made the sun to shine so far. 
The moon and every twinkhng star ? 

Mother. — 'Twas God, my child, who made them all 

By his Almighty skill : 
He keeps them, that they do not fall, 

And guides them as ho will ; — 
That glorious God, who lives afar, 
In heaven beyond the highest star. 

Child. — How very great that God must be. 
Who rolls them through the air! 
Too high. Mamma, to notice me, 
Or listen to my prayer ! 


Faic 'na chadal e 'sa' phrasaich — 
Am fochar dhamh a' cnàmh an cir : 

Fois, a niin, clia 'n f hàtli dhuit caisleach 
Cha 'n 'eil daimh an coir do cliinn-s'. 

'S ann gu thus', a ghraidh a dliion 

O bhàs, phi an, o ghul, 's o ghruaim : 

lasair bhuan, 'so ghiosgan fhiacal, 
'Thainig losa Criosd a nuas. 

Gu ma beò dhuit dh' fhas air eòlach, 
'S a chur dòchas ann gach la ! 

'N sin gu siorruidh ni thu còmhnuidh 
Làmh ris fèin 'an tìr an àigh. 

Bheirinn mile, mile pòg dhuit 

Leis an dòchas th'air mo mhiann ; 

Chaoidh cha 'n iarradh màthair solas 
'S mo na h-òigridh bhi aig Dia. 


Leanahh. — Chunnaic mi 'ghrian ag eiridh suas 
chùl nam beanntan garbh ; 
'S mar thiiall i suas gu àird' nan speur, 

Gu'n d' theich an dorch' air falbh. 
'N sin thaom an solus mach mu'n cuairt, 
'Cur air gach machair mais' a's snuadh. 

Cho luath 's a chriochnaich is' a reis 
Gu'n d' eirich 'ghealach chaoiu ; 

'S na deigh-s' gu'n d' thaisbean anns an speur 
Na reultan, aon a's aon : — 

Co rinn a' ghrian, 's a' ghealach fein, 

'S na reultan àillidh ud gu leir. 

Mathair. — 'S e Dia, mo ghaol, le 'neart ro threun 
'Rinn iad gu Kir an tùs : 
Leis ghleidheadh iad o thuiteam sios, 

A's riaghladh iad 'nan curs' ; — 
'N Dia glòrmhor àrd 'tha 'gabhail tamh 
Os ceann nan reultan shuas air nèamh. 

Leanahh. — Cia mòr an Dia sin ann an neart 
'Tha 'gluasad feachd nan speur ! 
Ro àrd tha e gu toirt fauear 
Aon ghearan 'thig o m' bheu ! 


O tell me, will he condescend 
To be a little infant's friend. 

Mother. — He will, my love ; for though he made 

Those -vvouders in the sky, 
You never need to be afraid 

He should neglect your cry ; 
For, humble as a child may be, 
A child that prays he loves to see. 

Behold the daisy -where you tread, 

That little lowly thing : 
Behold the insects over-head, 

That play about in spring , 
Thoush we may think them mean and small, 
Yet God takes notice of them all. 

And will not Jesus deign to make 

A feeble child his care ? 
Ah, yes ! he died for children's sake. 

And loves the infant's prayer. — 
God made the stars and daisies too, 
And watches over them and vou. 


Fair breaks the mom o'er yonder eastern sky, 
And biighteniug hiUs in pleasing prospect rise. 
How blest the man whose peaceful days are spent 
In useful exercise and calm content ! 
Who with the lark salutes the early dawn. 
Breathes ruddy health from every breezy lawn ; 
Far from the woild, retired to rural shades, 
Where loathsome dissipation ne'er invades. 
The rustic swain, while toiling soon and late. 
Is ever glad, nor grudges at his fate ; 
And thus disposed to work the fruitful soil, 
Feels dignity and pleasure in the toil ! 
No iUs he hears, no dangers does he fear. 
All's peace around within his narrow sphere. 


Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day ! 
Sons of men, and angels say ; 
Raise your joys and triumphs high — 
Sing, ye lieaTens, and earth reply. 


! mhàthair innsibh 'n deònach leis 
Eisdeachd ri leanabh baoth mar mis' ? 

Màthair. — Mo ghaol, gun teagamh, 's deònach leis ; 
'S ged rinn e feachd nan speur 
Na bitlieadh eagal idir ort 

Nach cluinu e thu a t' fheum ; 
Do leanabh beag, 'tha lag a's faoin, 
A bhios ag ùrnuigli 's mòr a ghaol. 

Seall air an neònain iosal, fhann 

'Bhios clann a' saltairt sìos ; 
Seall air a' chuileig os do cheann 

Tha 'dannsa shuas gun sgios : 
Ged shaoileas sinn' iad lag a's faoin, 
Tha Dia 'g an cumail suas gach aon, 

'S is cinnteach mi gu'n deònaich Criosd 

Làn dion do leanabaibh òg ; 
'S o n' dh' f hulling esan air an sgiith 

Cha diiilt e grhs a's glòir: 
Bi "g earbsa as gach oidhch' a's la, 
A's gheibh thu 'n fhois nach trcig gu bràch. 


Air fiamh na greine theachd do'n speur o'n chuan, 

A thilgeadh soillse thar gach colli a's cluan, 

'S a' mhaduinn chiùin, 's am feur fo dhriiichd ro throm, 

'S na h-eoin 'n an còisridh 'm bàiT nan ob 's nan torn, 

A' seinn an ceoil gu fonnmhor, bòidheach, binn, 

'S mac-tall'-nan-creag 'co-f hreagaradh d'an seinn. 

'M fear-dùthcha suairce dviisgidh suas à shuain, 

'S ann leis bu taitneach claistinneachd na fuaim : 

(iu sunndach, ait gu'n tig e mach do'n raon, 

'N deigh sgios, 's an oidhche chur a chuimhn' gu faoin 

R'a obair chleachdta teannaidh e gun dàil, 

A chuireas neart a's fallaineachd 'na chail ; 

A's miann air maoin cha chriiidh, 's cha chlaoidh a chrì', 

'S e 'mealtuinn neart a's fallaineachd mar m. 


Dh'eirich Criosd a nios o'n uaigh ! 
Seinnibh na tha bhos a's shuas ; 
Seinn a thalaimh, seinn a nèamh, 
Guiribh uile 'chiiii am mend, 


Love's redeeming work is done ; 
Fought the fight, the battle won : 
Lo ! the sun's eclipse is o'er ; 
Lo ! he sets iu blood no more. 

"Vain the stone, the watch, the seal, 
Christ has burst the gates of hell ; 
Death in vain forbids his rise, 
Christ has opened paradise. 

Lives again our glorious King, 
Where, death, is now thy sting ? 
Once he died our souls to save, 
Where 's thy victory boasting, grave ? 

Soar we now where Christ has led, 
Following cur exalted Head ; 
Made like him, like him we rise, 
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. 

Hail, thou Lord of earth and heaven, 
Praise to thee by both be given ! 
Thee we greet triumphant now, 
Hail ! the Resurrection — Thou. 


Jesus shall reign where'er the sun 
His vast successive course shall run ; 
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore, 
Till moons shall wax and wane no more. 

Through him shall endless prayer be made, 
And ceaseless praises crown his head ; 
Ilis name, like sweet perfume, shall rise, 
With every morning sacrifice. 

People and realms of every tongue 
Dwell on his love with sweetest song ; 
And infant voices shall proclaim. 
Their early blessings on his name. 

* It has been suggested by the Rev. J. A. James of Birmingham, 
and we believe very gcierafiy acted upon, that the above Hymn 
sliould be sung on the lirst day of 1859, by all the Christian fanii- 


Obair chriochnaicb, 's cliaidli e suas, 
Chuir e'n cath, a's f huair e bliuaidh ; 
Dh'fhalbh an smal a bli'air a' ghrein, 
A's dealraidh i gu sior 'na dheigh. 

B' f haoin a' eblach 's gacb innleachd dhaoiii'. 
Chuir e croinn na b-uaigh mu sgaoil ; 
B'f haoin do'n bhas a ghabhail sios, 
Dh' eirich e le buaidh a nios. 

Feuch a nis tha losa beò, 
Ghabh e còmhnuìdh ann an glòir ; 
Thug a bbàs an gath o'n Bhàs, 
Chaill an uaigh a buaidh gu bràch. 

Aig Criosd a nis tha neart a's glòir, 
A's riaghaladh an domhain mhòir ; 
Nèamh a's jfrinn tha f ' a làimh, 
'Sgach ni a's neach ri bheil ar dàimh. 

A Rigb na glòir ! 's e so an t-àgh, 
GèiU a's cUù thoirt duit gu bràch ; 
Sìth a's reite riut gu sior, 
So a' bheatha sbuthainn, f bior. 


Do losa bheir gach cinneacli geill, 
O eiridh gu dol fodha grein' ; 
Bidh 'uachdranachd o tbràìgh gu traigh, 
Gus nach tomhais geallach tràtb. 

Na 'ainm-san tbeid gach urnuigh suas, 
A's chù a's moladh o gach sluagh ; 
'S mar bholtrach tùis theid 'ainm an àird 
Le iobairt mhaduinn as gach àit'. 

Gach sluagh a's dùthaich tha fo'n ghrèin 
Ni seinn mu 'gbaol-san feadh gach re ; 
'Sdo ainm ro-uaomba Triath na glòir 
Leanabaibh 's ciochrain togaidh ceòl. 

lies and Sabbath school children throughout the world, wherever 
Else English language is spoken, beginning at Britain, and travel- 
ling with the sun round the globe. 


Blessings abound where'er he reigns, 
The prisoner leaps to loose his chains ; 
The weary find eternal rest, 
And all the sons of want are bless'd. 

Where he displays his healing pow'r, 
Death and the grave are fear'd no more 
In him the sons of Adam boast 
More blessings than their father lost. 

Let every creature rise, and bring 
Peculiar honours to our King : 
Angels descend with songs again. 
And earth repeat the loud Amen 

In form I long had bowed my knee ; 
But nought attractive then could see. 
To win my wayward heart to thee, 

My Saviour. 
When, self-accused, I trembling stood, 
I promised fair, as any could ; 
But never counted on thy blood. 

My Saviour- 
Too soon the promise vain I proved, 
That sinners make while sin is loved , 
But still to thee this heart ne'er moved, 

My Saviour, 
To pleasure prone, I thought it hard, 
From pleasure's path to be debarr'd ; 
Nor pleasure sought from thy regard, 

My Saviour. 
Thou whom I had so long withstood, 
Thou didst redeem my soul with blood, 
And thou hast brought me nigh to God, 

My Saviour. 
Through storms and waves of conflict past, 
Thy potent arm has held me fast. 
And thou wilt save me to the last, 

My Saviour. 


Bidh àgh a's sonas anns gacli ait', 
'S am priosanacli gheibh saors' o 'chàs ; 
'S an neach 'tha sgith o 'shaotliair fois, 
A's mie na h-airc o 'n eallach goirt. 

Far an nochd e 'chumhachd mòr, 
Cba'n fhuilgear bàs no cradh ni's mo ; 
'S d'a thrid-san glieibhear tuilleadh àigh 
N'a cbaill sinn trid easumhlacbd Adhaimb. 

Gach ereutair eireadb 's tbugadh naitb' 
Umblachd 's buidheacbas do'n Uan ; 
'S le'n òrain tbigeadh aingle 'nuas 
"S 'n cbruinneadb eireadh iolacb suas. 


Air sgàtb cleacbduinn lùb mo gblùn ; 
Ach mais' no àiU' cba 'n f bac a'd' gnùis, 
A cbum mo cbridbe 'tboirt duit dlùth, 

Mo Shlànuigbear, 
Air bball-cbritb, 's mi fo tbrioblaid gbeur, 
Sbaoil mi gu'n deanainn fein mo reit' — 
Do t'fbuil cba d' gbabb mi suim no speis, 

Mo Sblànuighear. 
Ged mbotbaicb mi gacb oidhirp baotb 
Cho f bad 'sa tbug mi'n pbeacadb gaol, 
Gidbeadb mo cbridbe riut cba d' aom, 

Mo Sblànuighear. 

Mbeas mi cruaidh gacb ni a db'iarr, 
Bba 'toirmeasg imeacbd reir mo mbiann, 
'S mo tblacbd-sa cba robb ann a d' riar, 

Mo Sblanuigbear. 
Acb tbusa ris an d" cbuir mi cììl, 
Le t'fbuil gu'n d' sbaor tbu m' anam bruit', 
'Sdo Dbia gu'n d' tbarruing tbu mi dlùtb. 

Mo Sblanuigbear. 
gbàbbadb, trioblaid, a's o tbeinn, 
Gu'n d' sbaor tbu mi le d' gbairdean treun, 
A's dionaidb tu mi o gacb beud, 

Mo Sblanuigbear. 


And when the voyage of life is o'er, 
I hope to gain the heavenly shore, 
And never grieve thy goodness naore, 

My Saviour. 

EXODUS, XV. 1.— 21. 

The horse and the rider are thrown in the sea, 

And Israeh escaped from her bondage, is free ; 

Jehovah has conquer'd — to him we will raise 

The song that bursts forth from our heai'ts in His praise. 

The arm of our God was our safety alone. 
That arm has the hosts that pursued us o'erthrown ; 
The God of our fathers has fought on our side, 
And Pharaoh, struck down in the pomp of his pride. 

His chariots and horsemen o'erwhelmed by the waves, 
Have sunk in the deep ocean's fathomless graves ! 
Thy hand, O Jehovah, is glorious in fight. 
And none can resist its omnipotent might! 

The foe that rose up in his pride against Thee 

Thou has scatter'd, and diown'd in the depths of the sea : 

As stubble dispers'd by the wind, so the breath 

Of Thy wrath in a moment hath swept them to death. 

Tlie mouarch himself, his chief captains and hosts. 
Lie entomb'd in the Ked Sea that washes their coasts : 
The blast of Thy power divided the flood, 
And the billows, ascending on either side, stood. 

Exulting in the enemy cried, 

-• I will follow — o'ertake — all the spoil will divide : 

My lust in their ruin shall riot its fill ; 

The sword I unsheathe — the slaves I will kill I '' 

The breath of Thy spirit blew strong on the waves, 
They cover'd that host in their fathomless graves ; 
Like lead they sank down in the depth of the sea. 
And Israel, redeem'd from her bondage, is free. 

O Jehovah, our God, M-ho with Thee can compare, 
'Midst the gods of the earth, or the gods of the air ? 
Whose glory, or gi-eatness is equal to Thine ? 
Whose deeds are so glorious, whose power so divine ? 

Thou stretch 'd out Thy hand from the gloom of the cloud — 
The earth deep engulph'd them — the sea was their shroud: 


'S mo tburas 'n uair a tliig gu crìch, 

'N sin gabliaidh tu mi steach do d' riogli'chd, 

'S cha chuir nii dorran ort gu sìor, 

Mo Shlàimighear 

ECSODUS, XV. 1.— 21. 

Chaidh an t-each a's am marcaich' abhàthadh 's a' chuan, 
'8 chaidh na h-Israelich as o'n sàrachadh cruaidh ; 
A's bhuadhaich lehòbhab — 's gu'n tog sinn an àii'd 
Oran molaidh d'a Aium-sau a shaor sin o 'r càs. 

'S e gàirdean an Tighearn ar dìdean a mhàin ; 

'S e 'Neart-san a bhuadhaich 'sa chiosnaich ar nàmh ; 

'S e 'n Tighearna Dia a chog air ar taobh, 

'S a bhuaidbich air Pharaoh, 's ar naimhdean a sgaoil. 

Chaidh a mharc-shluagh 'sa charbaid a shlugadh 'sa' chuan, 
Ann an doimhneachd ua fairge fhuair iadsau an uaigh! 
Tha do làmh-sa, lehòbhah, ro ghlòrmhor gu h-euchd, 
Co 's urrainn do bhacadh, no cogadh riut Fein ! 

An nàmhaid a dh'eirich a' t'aghaidh le h-uaill 
Gu'n do sgap, agus bhàth thu an doimhneachd a' chuain : 
Mar an asbhuain le gaoith air a fuadach 's gach ait' 
Rinn anail do chorruich an casgradh gu bàs. 

Agus Pharaoh 's a chuideachd, le 'n uaill a's le'm bòsd, 
'S a' mhuir tha 'n an laidhe gun phlosg a's gun deò : 
Le t'Anail rinn rathad do d' phobull roi'n chuan, 
'S air gach taobh dhiubh na tonnan rinn seasamh a suas. 

Le bosd a's buaidh-chaithream an namhaid gu'n d' eigh, 
" Leanaidh — a's beiridh — 's bheir creach dhiubli gu lèir : 
Mo thiachd tha 'n an sgrios, 'n an diobairt, 's 'n an ar ; 
Agus rùisgidh mo chlaidheamh, a's casgraidh gach tràill ! " 

Shèid anail do Spioraid air aghaidh nan stuadh, 

Agus shluigeadh do naimhdean an doimhneachd a' chuain ; 

Chaidh iad fodha mar luaidhe 's an aigeal a sios, 

'S o dhaors' a's o thrioblaid do shlnagh thug thu nios. 

O ! Thighearn, lehòbhah, co 's cosmhail riut fein 
'N am measg-san gu K'ir ris an abarar dee ? 
Co than glòir a's an cumhachd co-ionnan ri Dia ? 
Co dh'fhaodar a choimeas 'an tuigse r'ar Triath ? 

Do làmh shin Thu mach o dhubhar an neòil, 

'S 'n an laidhe 's a' chuan tha do naimhdean gun deò : 


The nations sha'J hear, and, vnlh trembling, shall ow 
Almighty the Power which our foes has o'erthrown. 

The arms of the valiant unnerved shall decline, 
And hosts stand in motionless dread, Lord, of Thine : 
The princes of Edom in terror shall quake. 
The knees of thy mighty men, Moab, shall shake. 

Thy sons, Palestina, droop helpless in woe, 
And Canaan melt from his presence as snow : 
Thou hast rescued Thy people from slavery's yoke. 
Thy mercy the chain of their vassalage broke. 

Thou wilt lead them triimiphant through desert and sea, 
To the land fixed as theirs in Thy changeless decree — 
The land of long promise, where, placing Thy throne. 
Thou reignest Almighty, and reignest alone ! 

The horse and the rider are thrown in the sea, 
And Israel, escaped from her bondage, is free ; 
.Tehovah has conquered — to Him we wiil raise 
The song that bursts forth from our hearts in His praise. 


Leaves have their time to fall. 
And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, 

And stars to set — but all. 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O, Death ! 

Day is for mortal care. 
Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth. 

Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer ; 
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. 

The banquet hath its hour, 
Its feverish hour of mirth, and sono, and wine ; 

There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, 
A tim e for softer tears — but all are thine. 

Youth and the opening rose 
May look like things too glorious for decay. 

And smile at thee ; but thou art not of those 
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey/ 

• We ^ire on the opposite page verses composed by the Rev. A. 
Clerk, Minister of Kilmallie, and evidently suggested by this well- 
known Poem of Mrs Hemans, tlic first two verses being a transla- 
tioii J but throughout the other six verses Mr Clerk follows his 


Nis cluinnidh na cinnich, 's air bhall-chrith bheir gcill, 
'S do chumhachd guu aidicli bhi tharta gu leir. 

Agus gàirdean nau uaibhreach gu'm meataich le sgàth 
'N uair a chluinneas an diol th'aii- do uaimhdean 's gach ait' 
Agus criothnaichidh prionnsachau Edoim gu leir, 
'S bidh treuu-f heara Mhoaib fo gheilt mar an ceudn'. 

Bidli mic Phalestina fo uamhan, 's fo bhròn, 
'S luchd-iiitich' Chanàain ui leaghadh roimh d' ghlòir : 
Do shluagh rinn tliu shaoradh o chuibhreach nan trail', 
'S do thròcaii- thug fuasgladh on àmhghar 's o 'n cràdh, 
Roimh 'n mlmir a's roi'n f hàsach, ni 'n tearnadh o'u teinn, 
'S bheh- seilbii dhoibh 's an diithaich a ninaich thu leiu — 
Ann am fearann a' gheallaidh 's an rioghaich Thu 'm feasd, 
Oir Dhuit-se bheir umhlachd am pobuU guu choisd. 
Chaidh an t-each a's am marcaich' a bhàthadh 's a' chuau, 
'S chaidh na h-Israeilich as o'n sàrachadh cruaidh ; 
A's bhuadhaich lehòbhah — 'sga'n tog sinn an àird 
Oran molaidh d'a Ainm-san a shaor sinn o'r càs. 


Tha am aig an duiUeach 's an tuit e o'u chraoibh — 
Tha am aig na blàthan 's an searg iad roimh'n ghaoith — 
Tha am aig na reultan 's an gabh iad mu thamh ; 
Thar gach am agus aimsir tha cumhuchd a' Bhàis ! 

Tha 'n latha gu cùram 'us obair an t-saogh'il — 

Tha'm feasgar gu coinuearah, a's caidreamh luchd-gaoil — 

An oidhche gu ùrnuigh, 's gu tàmh aun an suain ; 

Tha imeachd a' bhàis aig gach tràth agus uah- ! 

Tha 'n leanabh gle mhaiseach 'an ùrachd na slàint' — 
Tha 'n treun-f hear Ian ueart agus cruadail *s gach cas — 
Tha 'n t-aosda gu glic, 'us gu fòill ann na cheum ; 
Oige, treu'ntas, no gliocas, cha dion iad o'n eug ! 

Tha airgead a' ceanuach mòr chumhachd 'as speis — 
Tha fòghlum 'cur innleachdan neartmhor air ghleus — 
Tha gaisgeadh thar naimhdeau a' cosnadh na buaidh ; 
Beairteas, fùghlum, no gaisgeadh cha ghlais iad an uaigh ! 

own train of thought, and puts a good finish on it, by directing 
the reader lo the Saviour, who deprived Death of his sting and 
the Grave of its victory, and brought life and immortality to light 
through the Gospel. 


We know when moons shall wane, 
When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, 

When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden <jrain ; 
But who shall teach us when to look for thee ? 

Is it when spring's first gale 
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lio ? 

Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ? 
They have one season — all are ours to die. 

Thou art where billows foam, 
Thou art where muòic melt upon the air ; 

Thou art around us in our peaceful home, 
And the world calls us forth — and thou art there. 

Thou art where friend meets friend. 
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest ; 

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend 
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. 


'Twas niijht,— the waves wers rolling black beneath the gloom o? heaven. 

Where fast o'erhead the floating wrack by the loud wind was drivea ; 

On every rock and distant creek fierce raged the whitening cpray, 

While one stray boat is like a speck tossed by the waves awaj. 

The seamen's strength was well nigh spent, nor yet their port they knew. 

For not a star its lustre lent unto the toiUng crew : 

Out then and spake a mariner— a hardy man was he, 

Who 'd faced full many a wintry year the storm upon the sea. 

" My trust is yet in Him who sent about my mates and me 

This strong and fearful element that rageth on the sea : 

My trust doth in His mercy lie who knows to guide our way, 

And lead us up to heaven on high, or be on earth our stay." 

In darkness, shining as he spoke far glanced a lonely beam — 

From where the wave in thunder broke, bright spread its guiding gleam : 

'Twas there his little daughter raised the star-like beacon light. 

Above his humble home that blazed, and cheered the howling night. 

"Twas there she tended it with care amid the darkness wild, 

And lighted hi her heart the prayer that cheered the fishers child : 

"Twas there she guarded well the flame against the wind and spray. 

Until her storra-tossed father came and kissed her fears away. 

• The original of these verses was composed many years ago by 
the Rev John M'Leod, D.D., Minister of Movven. The English is 
by no muans a close translation. The following note was prefixtd 
to them when they first appeared in the " Gielic Messenger." 

" Tha Eilean Thiridhe cho iosal, chomhnard 's nach 'eil e furasd' 
a thogail 's an oidhche leis na maraichean a tha 'g iarraidh g'a 


Tha 'm bràthair glè mhùirneach mu 'phiuthar a's caomli — 
Am fear-pòsda niu'n mhnaoi do'n tug e a ghaol — 
Tha 'mhàthair ro gliaolach niu aon mhac a gràidh ; 
Gràdh bràthar, no màthar, cha saor sinn o'n bhàs ! 

O ! 's nàmliaid guu tioma, gun tròcair aui Eàs — 
Tha 'imeachd 'measg fo!a, 'us truaighe gach là — 
Cha chuir deòir, 's cha chuir osua aon stad air a cheum ; 
Rinn e 'ii saoghal so uile ro dhubhach — làu dheur ! 

Ach moladh a's cliù do ghaisgeach an àigh ; 

'Thug buaidb air an uaigh — 'thug an gath as a' bhàs : 

'S a choisinn do dhaoine sior-bheatha làu glòir, 

'S nach bi tiuneas, no doilgheas, no amhghar, no bròn. 

'losa, Mhic Dhe ! 's tu aoibhneas mo shùl ! 
Rid' ghràdh, a's ri d' chòmhuadh do ghnàth bi'dh mo dhùil 
O'! saor mi o'n pheacadh 'thug neart do an Bhàs, 
Làn-uaorah dean mo thaisbein' 'n làthair Athair nan grks. 

Bha ghrian 's i air luidhe fo smal a's fo ghruaim, 
Agus cuantan a' beuchdaicli le gàirich nan stuadh ; 
Ach tha'n t-eithear gu treun ris a' ghaillinn a' strith — 
Ag iarraidh gun luasgan gu cala na sith. 

Bha dubh-neoil nan doinionn a' siubhal nan speur, 
A's fearann no fasgadh do'n sgiobadh rha leur ; 
Ach gun mheatachd, gun imcheist air cridhe nan sonn, 
Shior ghleidh iad an gabhail air Eilean nan tonn. 

Deir 3m maraiche aosda a shuidh air an ailm, 
" Na striochdadh mo ghillean fo uabhar na stoirm ! 
Biodh 'ur n-earbsa gu daingean 'an ard High nan diil, 
Oir dheònaich a mhaitheas na bheir soilis' agus iùl." 

Agus feuch ! mar a labhair, air carraig nan stuadh, 
Suas dh'eirich le 'dhearsadh ard lòchran nam buadh ; 
'S an deur nach do dh'thdisgeadh le gàbhadh o 'shùil, 
Shil an t-athair 'nuair thuirt e, " Leanabh mo ruin! " 

'S bha 'leanabh cho sona 's bu mhiannach le 'chri 

'N uair a chunnaic i 'n t-eithear an cala na sith ; 

'SO! b' aoibhneacli a choinneamh 'n uair rainig e 'n traigh, 

'S a thuirt i le aiteas, — " O ! athair mo ghràidh ! " 

ionnsuidb. Tha e 'na chleachdadii cumanta, uime sin, aig muinn- 
tir an eiiein, 'n uair a tha cidrdean a mach air a' chuan agus dùil 
rlutha, tejne 'lasadli air ait' àraid air an dean am maraich' a ghabli- 
ail. 'S iomad bàta agus sgiobadh a thearnadh leis a' chleachdadh 
chàirdeil, bhàigheil so. 'Se f haireachadh so a thug air ar caraid 
an Dan a leanas a sgriobhadh." 



O Zion ! afflicted with wave upon wave, 
Whom no man can comfort, whom no man can save ; 
With darkness surrounded, hy terrors dismayed, 
In toiling and rowing tliy strength is decayed. 

Loud roaring, the billows would thee overwhelm, 
But skilful 's the Pilot that sits at the helm : 
His wisdom, his power, and his faithfulness stand 
Engaged to conduct thee in safety to land. 

" O fearful ! and faithless (in mercy He cries) 
My promise, my truth are they slight in thine eyes ? 
Still, still I am with thee, and faithful to keep. 
Though seeming amid the rough tempest to sleep. 

" Forget thee! I will not, I cannot forget 
"What Calvary v»-itnessed to cancel thy debt ; 
On the palms of my hands while looking I see 
The wounds I received in suffering for thee. 

" I feel at my heart all thy sighs and thy groans, 
For thou art akin to my flesh and my bones ; 
In all thy distresses thy head feels the pain, 
Yet all is most needful, not one is in vain." 

O Saviour ! we trust thee our life to secure. 
Thy wisdom is perfect, supreme is thy power ; 
In love thou coirectest, our souls to refine, 
To make us at length in thy likeness to shine. 

The foolish, the fearful, the weak are thy care, 
The helpless, the hopeless, thou hearest their prayer ; 
From all our afflictions thy glory shall spring. 
The deeper our sorrows the louder we'll sing. 


The golden shades of evening rest 
Upon Tiberias' glassy breast ; 
No rippling waves disturb the sea, 
For all is bright serenity. 

But soon the sky is overcast, 

Dark threatening clouds drive swiftly past 

The wind is up — the billows roar, 

And wreak their fury on the shore. 



Oigh Shioin ! fo àmhghar, fo ànradh, 's fo bhròn, 
'S gun neach ann bheir teamadh o d' ghàbhadh a'd' choir ; 
Air do chuartach' le trioblaid, 's le deuchainnean geur, 
Ann an gleachd 's ann an cràdh gu'n d' f hàilnich thu fèin. 

Tha na tonnan a' beucaich, 's a' bagairt bhi garbh, 
Ach 's eòlach an Sgiobair a shuidh air an ailm ; 
Tha 'ghUocas, 's a chumhachd, 's a dhillseachd gu sior 
A' gealltuinn gu'n toir e thu tearuint' gu tir. 

" Na bi'-sa fo eagal, (tha losa ag ràdh,) 
Mo ghealladh tha seasmhach, 's cha'n f hàilnìch gu bràch ; 
A ghnàth tha mi 'd' chuideachd gu d' chumail a suas, 
Ged a shaoil thu gu'm bheil mi gun suira dhiot no truas. 

" Cha di-chui'nich mi thusa, cha'n urrainn gu bràch 
Mi dhearmad na dh'f huiling air a' chrann air do sgath ; 
Air dearnaibh mo lamh 'n uair a sheallas mi chi 
Na lotan a fhuair air do slion anns an stri. 

Mo chridhe tha cràiteach mu d' àmhghar, 's mu d' leòn, 
Oir thusa tha 'n cairdea s do m' chnàmhan, 's do m' f heòil ; 
Anns gach trioblaid a thig ort gu'm fairich mi pein, 
Ach tha iad gu buannachd a's feumail duit fcin." 

Ar beatha, a Shlàn'ir, tha tearuint' fo d' sgàil, 
A'd' ghliocas, 's a'd' chumhachd gu'n earb sinn gu bràch ; 
Ann an gràdh bheir thu oilean, gu ar miannan a chlaoidh, 
Chum fadheòidh ann a'd' choltas gu'm bi sinn a chaoidh. 

Am baoth, a's an gealtach gheibh tearmunn fo d' sgàil, 
'S gheibh an neach tha gun dòchas a's anmhunn uait baigh ; 
O ar trioblaid 's o'r dòlas gu'm faigh thusa glòir, 
Oir dhoimhne ar dòrainn gu'n tog sinn duit ceòl. 


Bu tosdach an f hairge 'n uair a ràinig a' ghrian 
Gu greadhnach a pàilinn, 'tha ghnath anns an iar — 
Bha gean agus aoibhneas air aogus gach ni, 
A's oiteag na h-oidhche a' sioladh gun chli. 

Bha ciar-bhrat an anamoich air sgaoileadh mu'n cuairt — 
A' còmhdach nan garbhlach, nan gleann, a's nan cruach ; 
Ach 's carach na sionntan, 's is meallta a' ghaoth — 
Mar shubhachais dhiomhain, 's mar shòlasan baoth. 

Tha ailleachd ua h-iarmailt air caochladh gu gruaim, 
'S ua neòil a bha ciallach, 'n an still 'ruith gu luath ; 


Scared by the surge the sea-fowl fly 
In wild confusion through the sky; 
Upon the deep a vessel's form 
Is seen amidst the thickening storm« 

Struggling, she rolls from side to side. 
And bounds across the bursting tide ; 
The shredded canvas bends the mast, 
Each moment seems the vessel's last ! 

Within that bark the storm defies, 
The Son of God, incarnate lies ; 
Wrapt in the arras of sound repose. 
Oblivion hides his earthly woes. 

The billows foam and rage arround. 
But still he rests in sleep profound ; 
At last a cry salutes his ear, 
A cry of mingled hope and fear. 

A cry for help, at once 'tis heard — 
Such cries he ne'er can disregard ; 
Calmly he rose and whispered ' Peace, 
Ye winds and raging billows cease." 

The conscious elements obey, 
And own at once their Maker's sway ; 
The tempest's voice is heard no more, 
And soon the bark has reached the shore. 

While joy and wonder fill each breast, 
Which fear so lately had possessed ; 
Just so it is with those who tread, 
In faith, life's path with sorrows spread. 

"When cherished hopes fade and decay, 
Like frost-nipt flowers in early May ; 
And when aflliction's billows roll 
In swift succession o'er my soul, 

When fears and doubts distract the mind, 
No comfort can the Christian find ; 
lie prays, God hears, and light is given, 
Which shows the wise designs of Heaven. 


*N sin fairge Ghenasaret dh'eirich gu borb — 
Gu h-uaibhreach, atmhor, le ainneart na stoirm. 

Bba doilleireachd chianail a macb air a' chuan, — 
'S tein-adhair gu h-iargalt' a' soillseach' uau stiiadh. 
Air eunlaith na mara gu leir a' cur sgàtb, 
'S iad 'teicheadli le cabhaig gu fasgadh na tràgh'. 

Aon eithear gu sgairteil a' gleachd a's a' strith — 
Ri àrd-thonnaibh sgaiteach is confhaiche lith ; 
'Tha 'bristeadb a steach oirr' na mill nacli 'eil faoiu, 
'S a' fasgadh a h-aisnibh le claidein, 's le saoth'ii-. 

Geb'eòlach an sgiobadh air àuradh 'sair spàirn, 
Lion uarahanu an cridhe, a's mheataich an càil 
Aig faicinn nan tonnan a' buadh'cbadh 'an neart, 
'S a' bagairt gu lonach an slugadh mar chreach. 

'An deireadh na luinge blia losa 'na shuain, 
Gun eagal, gun ghiorag 'an eudan an Uain ; 
Bu shamhach a chadal, a's b' f hiuealt a ghnùis 
'N uair thainig le cabhaig an sgiobadh g"a dhùsg'. 

Le oillt air an spiorad, a's buaireas 'u an gruaidh : — 

" Fòir oirnne (a deir iad), fbir oirnne gu luath." 

Chios gàirich na gaillinn, 's a nuixllanaich shearbh, 

'N uair a chual' i a smachd-ghuth, " Bi ciùin, a's bi balbh," 

A' ghaoth 'bha air mhire a nis tha fo chis — 
An fhairge 'bha 'miUeadh a nis tha aig sith : 
Fo cheannsal an Ti sin 'tha 'cuartach' na ghlaic 
Na gaoith 'n uair is treis' i, 's ga cumail fo smachJ. 

Mar so anns gach àmhghar tha'n Slànuighear dlùth — 
'N uair dh'eighear gu h-àrd ris tha blàthas 'na shùil ; 
Le 'chumhachd 'sle 'thròcair ni Treun-fhear nam buadh 
Làn didein a dheònach' gu gràsrahor d'a shluagh. 

'An turas na beatha tha dosguinn gu leòir, 
Air beanntan 's trie ceathach, air athar 's trie neòil 
A tha 'folach gu doilleir glan imeachd na grein', 
'S a' bacadh an eilthirich siubhal gu reidh. 

Mar sin tha gach deuchainn 'an saoghal nan deur 
'Chum an seann-duin' a phianadh 's a chlaoidheadh gu geur, 
Gus am fas e 'na naoidhean — 'na nuadh-dlmin' 'an Criosd, 
A's an gluais e le h-aoibhueas 'an slighe na slth. 

Ach an àmhuinn ged 's teinnteach, 'sged 's nuallach an cuau, 
Tha'n Slanuighear cinnteach d'a ghealladh gach uair, — 
" 'N uah- theid thu troi' thuiltean cha 'n fholaich iad thu, 
'S na lasraichean guineach cha dochainn, 's cha chiùrr." 


He sees that all is done in love, 
To raise his heart and thought above ; 
Where sin and care no more annoy. 
But all is pure and lasting joy. 

If Paul in Csesar's court must stand, 

He need not fear the sea ; 
Secured from harm on every hand 

By the divine decree. 

Although the ship in which he sailed. 
By dreadful storms was tossed ; 

The promise over all prevailed, 
And none of them were lost. 

Jesus, the God whom Paul adored, 

Who saves in time of need ; 
Was then confessed by all on board, 

A present help indeed. 

Though neither sun nor stars were seen, 
Paul knew the Lord was near ; 

And faith preserved his soul serene. 
When others shook for fear. 

Believers thus are tossed about. 

On life's tempestuous main ; 
But grace assures, beyond a doubt. 

They shall their port attain. 

They must — they shall appear one day, 
Before their Saviour's throne ; 

The storms they meet with by the way, 
But make his power known. 

Their passage lies across the brink. 
Of many a threatening wave ; 

The world expects to see them sink. 
But Jesus lives to save. 

Lord, though we are but feeble Avorms, 

Yet since thy word is past, 
We '11 venture through a thousand storms. 

To see thy face at last. 


'S 'n uair thig thu gu bruachaibh lordain a' bhàis, 
A'a tonnan a' cuartachadh t'anama le gàir, 
Chi thu uabhar an t-srutha ag aomadh air falbb 
Ag cluinntinn a' ghutha, " Bi ciùin, a's bi balbh." 


M'as èiginn gu'n tèid Pòl do'n Roimh, 
Cha'n aobhar oillt dha'n cuan ; 

Oir tha e tearuint' air gach laimh 
Le òrdugh Dhè nach gluais. 

Ged chaidh an long 'san robh e 'luasg' 
'S an doininn chruaidh a bh' ann ; 

An gealladh thar gach ni thug buaidh, 
'S cha deachaidh h-aon a chall. 

losa ! an Dia d'am buineadh Pòl, 
A dh'fhuasglas anns gach cruas ; 

Dh' aidich gach aon a bha air bòrd 
Mar chobhair dheas 'san uair. 

Ged nach robh 'ghrlan no reultan ris 

Bha earbsa Phòil 'an Dia ; 
'S ghleidh creideamh 'anam ciùin gun sgàth. 

'Nuair chrithich càch le fiamh. 

Na naoimh mar so tha air an luasg' 

Air chuan na beatha bhos ; 
Ach gràs tha 'deanamh cinnteach dhoibh 

Gu'n ruig iad caladh fois. 

Tha 'n latha 'tighinn anns an seas 

lad uil' aig cathair Chriosd ; 
'S bidh 'n stoirm a th'aca 'leigeil ris 

A chumhachd mor g'an dion. 

'N an cuairt a' dol roimh'n bheatha so 

Bidh aca iomadh cràdh ; 
Tha'n saogh'l an duil gu'n teid an call, 

Ach gleidhidh los' iad slàn. 

A Dhe, ged 's cnuimhean sinn tha faoin, 
Tha d' fhocal naomh air dòigh ; 

'S theid sinn roimh mhile stoirm a ehum 
Gu'n ruig sinn thu fa-dheòidh. 



Macleod's wizard flag from the grey castle sallies, 
The rowers are seated, unmoored are the galleys ; 
Gleam war-a.\e and broad-sword, clang target and qoiver. 
As Mackrimmon plays, " Farewell to l)unvegan forever! ^ 

" Farewell to each cliff, on which breakei-s are foaming ; 
Farewell each dark glen in which red deer are roaming; 
Farewell lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river ; 
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never! 

" Farewell the bright clouds that on Culen are sleeping ; 
Farewell the bright eyes in the Fort that are weeping ; 
To each minstrel delusion farewell ! and forever — 
Mackrimmon departs to return to you never. 

" The Banshee's Avild voice sings the death-dirge before me, 
And the pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ; 
But my heart shall not flag, and my nerve shall notquiver^ 
Though devoted I go — to return again never ! " 

Too oft shall the note of Mackrimmon's bewailing 
Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing: — 
" Dear land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever, 
Return — return — return we shall never ! " 

* Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said 
to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to em- 
bark to join the Royalists in 1745. The Minstrel was impressed 
■with a belief, which the event verified, that he would never return. 
These verses are well-known throughout the Highlands, being the 
strains with which the emigrants, tor Canada and Australia, often 
take leave of their native shore; they have also been the coronach 
which accompanyed the remains of many a brave Highlander, in 
bygone ages, to thfir last resting place. Sir Walter Scott was so 
moved by the overwhelming pathos of these verses in the original, 
that he executed the above translation. Dr M'Leodof St. Columba 
gave another version of this Lament, or rather the response to it, 
iH the "Mountain Visitor," and introduced it by a thrilling note — 
the note and version are as follow. — 

'N uair a chaidh MacLeoid Dhunbheagain a raach bliadhna- 
1 heariaich leis an arm dhearg, bha 'chuid bu lionmhoire do'n 
c-hinneadh 'nan cridheachan le Tearlach, agus n'am b'urrainn iad 
"s esan a leanadh iad. IV ann 's an run so bha DonuU Ban Mac- 
ruimein. IVIu'n d'fhng iad an Dun thiiirt Macruimein gu'n robh 
lios aige nach tilleadh e ; agus an latha thog na Leodaieh orra 
niach o Dhunbheagain, agus mnatban na tire a' gul 's a' caoidh, 
'sann an sin a chluich e am port tiamhaidh, brònach sin," Cha till 
mi luille," agus b' f hior mar a thubbairt e : anns a' cheud bhh\r a 
eiiuircadh thuit e, agus cha do mharbhadh duin' ach e fein. Bha 



Bratach bhuadhail Mhicleoid o'n tùr mhòr a' lasadh, 

'S luchd-iomraidh nan ràmh 'greasadh bhàrc thar a' ghlas chuain; 

Bogha, sgiath, 's claidheamh-raòr, 's tuagh gii leon, airm nam 

'S Macruimein 'cluith cuairt, " Soraidh bhuan le Dunbheagain," 

Slàn leis gach creag àrd ris 'm bheil gàirich àrd-thonnan ; 
Slàn leis gach gleann fas 's an dean cràchd-dhaimh an langan ; 
Eilein Sgiathanaich àigh ! slàn le d' bheanntan 's guirm' fireach ; 
Tillidh, dh'fhaoidte, Macleoid, ach cha bheò Macruimein ! 

" Soraidh bhuan do'n gheal-cheò a tha 'còmhdachadh Chuilinn ! 
Slàn leis gach blàth shùil 'th'air an Dun, 's iad a' tiiireadh ; 
Soraidh-bhuan do'n luchd-ciùil 's trie chuir sunnd orm a's tioma ; 
Sheòl Macruimein thar sail' 's gu la bhrath cha till tuille ! 

"Nualan allf na piob-mhòr 'cluiche marbh-rann an f hilidh, 
Agus dearbh-bhrat a' bhais mar f halluing aig' uime ; 
Ach cha mheataich mo chrìdh', a's cha ragaich mo chuislean, 
Ged dh'f halbham le m' dheoin 's fios nach till mi chaoidh tuille ! " 

'S trie, a chluinnear fuaim bhinn, caoidh thiom-chri' Mhicruimein, 
'N uah- bhios Gàidheil a' falbh, thar na fairge 'g an iomain : — 
" O ! chaomh thir ar gràidh, o do thràigh 's rag ar n-imeachd, 
Och ! cha till— cha till— Och ! cha till dnn tuille ! " 

leannan aig DonuU Ban 's an Dun, 's 'n uair a chual i 'm port chuir 
i na rannan a leanas r'a cheile: — 

Db'iadh ceo nan stuchd mu aodann Chuilinn, 
A's sheinn a' Bhean-shlth a torman mulaid : 
Tha sùilean gorm, ciùin 's an Dim a' sileadh, 
O n' thriall thu uainn 's nach till thu tuille. 

Cha till, cha till, cha till Macruimein, 

'An cogadh no'n sith cha till e tuille; 

Le airgiod no ni cha till Macruimein, 

Cha till gu bràch gu la na cruinne. 
Tha osag nam beann gu fann ag imeachd, 
Gach sruthan 'sgachallt gu mall lebruthach; 
Tha iait' nan speur feadh gheugan dubhach, 
A' caoidh gu'n d'fhalbh 'snach till thu tuille. 
Tha'n f hairge fa-dheoidh Ian broin a's mnlaid, 
Tha 'm bata lb 'seòl ach dhiùlt i siubhal ; 
Tha gàir nan tonn,Ie fuam neo-shubhach, 
Ag ràdh gu'n d' fhalbh 's nach till thu tuille. 
Cha chluinnear do cheol 'san Dim mu fheasgar, 
'S mactalla nam mùr le miiirn 'ga freagairt : 
Gach fleasgach a's òigh gun cheol, gun bheadradh, 
O'n thriall thu uainn 's nach till thu tuille. 



I slept, and lo ! a fold where sheep were penned, 
Safe and secure, beneath the Shepherd's eye, 
Methought myself a strayed and wandering lamb, 
Who wished to enter in ; — but could not find 
A gap, or broken place, o'er which to climb ; 
And round and round I looked and toiled in vain. 

When in the midst of this, my fruitless plan 
To gain an entrance by a way not right, 
I heard a lion roar ; his voice was harsh 
And awful to mine ear ; and well I knew 
That I were his, unless I could enfold 
Myself among those safe and raniomed sheep. 

I called for help : my feeble strength then tried 
To break the barrier down — but all in vain. 
My breath came thick — when, in the east, appeared 
A star, like that of old at Bethlehem. 
My eye was dim with tears — I could not look on high. 

A change occurred : and now I saw a door, 
And heard a voice that said, " T am the Way, 
The Truth, the Life, Oh ! fly to me and live." 
I ti-ied to run, and failed ; my feet seemed tied, 
I could not move, but sobbed and cried aloud : — 
" Draw me, and then I can run after Thee, 
My Lord, my God." — And so He did, and took 
Me through the open door which none can close. 
And then the lion's roar I feared not ; 
For safe within the Everlasting arms 
I knew my soul secure. 

I For the present we bring these translations to a close, trusting 
that what has been given in the preceding pages will prove 
beneficial to our countrymen. We vrì]l now introduce our 
Celtic readers to a few pieces of original Gaelic poetry. We 
expected to have been enabled to give Enghsh translations of 
some of these pieces ; but failing to accompUsh this in time 
we present them as they are. The first four of these are by 
the Rev. J. M'Leod, D.D., Minister of Morven.] 



Air cadal domh, feuch ! mainnir 's au robh cruinn 
Gu tearuint' treud, fo shuil a' Clilobair chaoimh. 
Air leam gun robh mi fèin mar uan air chall — 
A' miannachadh 'bhi steach ; ach beam air bith 
No toll clia 'n fhaca mi tre 'm faighinn suas, 
Ged sheall mi air gach taobh mu'n cuairt gu dlùth. 

Am feadh a bha mi ann an càs ro-cha-uaidh, 
Ag ian-aidh dol a steach air dòigh neo-cheai-t, 
Chuala mi leòmhan beucach, le 'ghuth garg 
'Bha uamhasach do m' chluais : 's bha fhios 'am fòs 
Gu'n reubadh mi gun dàil, mar faighinn dion 
Am measg nan caorach saorta 'bha 's a' chrò. 
Air cobhair dh'eigh, 'smo neart ro-fhann gun d' chleachd 
Gu tilgeadh sios gach bacadh — ach gu faoin. 
Ach feuch ! 's an ear chunnacas rionnag àigh, 
Coltach ri Reul-iùil Bhetleheim o chian. 

Ach thàinig caochladh, 's dorus chunnaic mi, 
A's chuala guth ag ràdh, "Is mis' au t-Slighe, 
'N Fhirinn, a's a' Bheatha fòs, do m' ionnsuidh teich, 
'S mair beò." Dh'f heuch mi ri ruith, 's cha b' urra' mi ; 
Ion 's air mo cheangal cha do ghluais mi ceum. 
Ach ghlaodh le osnaich ghoht, " Tarruing, 's ruithidh 
Mi an sin a'd' dheigh, mo Thriath, 's mo Dhia." 
A's rinn mar sin, 's troimh 'n dorus f hosgailte 
Nach dùin aon neach, mi steach gu'n tug. 
A's beuc an leòmhain ghairg cha chuir orm sgàth ; 
Oir tearuinte, fo dhion a' ghàirdein Thrèin, 
Bidh mi gun eagal, no gun f hiamh gu sior. 


" Gu ruige so chuidich an Tighearna leinn.'' — I Sam. vii. 12. 

Tha mo thuras roimh'n fhàsach a nis gu bhi reidh, 
Thainig feasgar mo làithean a's deireadh mo re ; 
Ach aidichidh mi leis gach taingealachd crìdh', 
Au f had so, a Dhia, gu'n do chuidich thu mi. 


'S trie a shearg mi fo euslaint 's a ghuil mi fo bhròtì, 
'S trie a ghluais mi gu deuraeh gun eideadh, gun Ion ; 
Ach dh'earb mi a Dia anns gach deucliainn a's dith, 
'S an fhad so, a Tiiighearna, chuidich thu mi. 

' S ioma caraid bu chaomli leam a dhiobair, 's a threig, 
'S ioma dòchaa a b'ait leam a mheall mi le 'clieilg ; 
Ach do ehàirdeas-sa sheas anns gach doilgheas a's strith, 
'S an fhad so, a Thigheama, chuidich thu mi. 

Agus seallaidh mi romham, a's gabhaidh mi beachd 
Air gach deuchainn a's ànradh tha fathast ri teachd ; 
Ach m'anam fo gheilt no fo imcheist cha blii ; 
Oir an Dia uach do dhiobair, cha dlobair e mi. 


Ri doille na h-oidhche, 's mi 'g eisdeachd na stoirm, 
A' nuallan mu'n euairt domh ! bu ghabhaidh a toirm, 
Noehd mise do'n Tighearn gach taingealaciid crìdh', 
Gun do cheadaich e dhomhsa fasgadh a's sith, 

Ach a' fuadach a maeh mo smuainteanan uam, 
Cia lionmhor iad, deir mi, tha noehd air a' chuan ; 
Gu faontrach truagh air an udal fo ànradh 
Gun reull a' toirt soillse 's gun challa g'an tearaadh. 

O ! b' ait leam nam b' urrainn domh lòchran na soillse, 
A dhearsadh fa'n comhair ri dubhar na h-oidbche ; 
'S gach maraich' th' air faontra, gu h-airsneulach, sglth, 
A liàladh gu tearuint' do challa na sith. 

Ach innis dhomh, 'chreid'ich, an d' fhairich thu riamh 
An tearuinteachd sheasgair o chorruich do Dhia ! 
Ann an tuiltibh na feirge, — 's tu'n impis bhi baite, 
An d' f huair thusa fasgadh o charraig na slainte ? 

'S an e nach seall thu a nis, le fadal do chrìdh'. 
Air na miltibh tha f hathast fo ainneart a' strith ; 
Air seacharan san doille, 's an doinionn a' bàrcadh, 
Gun leirsinn air cunnart — 's gun iùl chum an tearnadh. 

O ! mosgail a chreid'ich, 's le dealas a'd' ghruaidh, 
Thoir iùl do gach poacach th' air seachran gu truagh ; 
O ! mosgail, 's le d' ghuiomhar' a' dealradh mar ghreiu, 
Seòl da-san an t-sligh' air an imich e fein. 

Bidh do dhuais anus an t-saoghal so saibhir a's pailt, 
Ma thearuas tu'n t-anam tha 'u impis bhi caillt' ; 
'S bheir e binneas do d' chaithream aig deas laimh do Righ 
Gur leur dhuit e souadh aun an rioghachd na sith. 



Ri àìleachd a' Chèitein tha'n saoghal gu leir 
A ' cur maitheas an Tighearn gu h-eibhinn an ceill, 
Tha na tuiltean, 's na cuantan, na coilltean 's na glinn, 
(iun airsneul a'seinn da le co'-sheirm bhinn. 

Ged chuala' mi cbaithream cha do thog mi am fonn, 
Ach dh'imich mi romham gu neoshunntach, trom, 
Gun urram gun ghradh, 's gun fhiùghantachd crìdh'. 
Do 'n Dia sin a chòmhdaich le àilleachd gach ni. 

Ach'thàinig an geamhradh gu tartarra doirbh — 
Theirinn an doiuionn, a's dh'eirich an stoirm ; 
A's theich mi gu h-anf hann a t-ionnsuidh-sa 'Dhe, 
Ag iarraidh ort fasgadh fo sgaile do sgeith. 

Thàinig geamhradh mo bheatha gu h-aoidheil 's gu guanach, 
A's dh'imich mi romham, gach ni mar bu mhianuach ; 
A' mealtuinn gach sochair, a's saor o gach dòlas, 
Ach fathast 's an Tighearn cha d' rinn mise solas. 

Ach feuch ! thàinig caochladh a bhròin air mo charadh. 
Thainig le m' gheamhradh gach deuchainn a's ànradh , 
A's ghluais mi gu silteach fo iargain 's fo bhròn, 
Gun chobhair, gun chùmhnadh, gun eideadh, gun Ion. 

Shiubhail mi'n saoghal gu h-airsneulach, sgith ; 
Ach tha faoineachd a's diomhanas sgriobht' air gach m : 
A s air uachdar an domhain cha d' f huair mi cul-taic', 
Gus 'n do thill mi ri Dia, mar an caiman do'n Aire. 


Tha gach sligh' air an gluais sinn an taobh so do'n uaigh, 
Air a h-iathadh mu'n cuairt leis gach deuchainn ro-chruaidh 
Ach ged tha air gach laimh ioraa doilghios, a's dòlas ; 
Cha'n'eil anns an t-saoghal so truaighe gun dochas. 

An diobarach is laige, cha'n'eil e gun taic, 

Ris an earb' e le misnich 'na àmhghar 's 'na aire : 

Tha milse r'a f haotainn 'sa chupan is seirbhe, 

'S tha reult a' toirt soillse anns an oidhche is doirbhe. 

Chunna mi 'm peacach 'na airsneul 's na sgios, 
Fo uallach na h-aing'eachd air aomadh a sios ; 
Ach bha Grian ait an dòchais na glòir os a cheann 
A' dearsadh roi' dheuraibh, gu h-aoidheil 's gu ciùin. 


(""hunna mi'n t-euslaint fo iargain 'ga chlaoidh, 
Bu chianail a chàradh, 's bu deis'neach a chaoidh ; 
Ach bha misneach san t-sùil a chinn lag-sheallach fann, 
'S bha fiughair na slàinte mar adhart fo 'cheann. 

Chunna mi 'bhanntrach, 's i sinnt' air an uaigh, 
Bha na deuran gu frasach a' sileadh o 'gruaidh ; 
'S i gun chobhair, gun taic' ach na dilleachdain mhaoth 
'Bha tuireadh gu leanabail, 's iad sinnte r'a taobh. 

Ach rinn ise bun anns gach gealltannas gi-àidh, 
Agus sheall i le aiteas air maduinn an àigh, 
Anns an siabar gach deur, 's an leigh'sear gach cridh' ; 
'S anns an coinnich luchd-dàimh ann an àros na sith. 

Agus shiubhail mi 'm smuaintibh an saoghal gu leir, 
Troi'n f hàsach bu duaichnidh, 's troi' ghleannaibh nan deur ; 
Ach bha dòchas 's gach ionad toirt misneach 's gach càs, 
Mar tha 'ghrian anns gach ionad toirt soills'agus bliith's. 

Ach chi mi a' tighinn àrd latha na soillse, 

An latha nach tionndaidh gu feasgar no oidhche ; 

Tha dòchas an f hirean air tionndadh gu buaidh, 

Tha 'n t-aingidh gun dùchas — Feuch ! iomlan, no truagh, 


Ann an Tir chein air Oidhche Choinnle. 

I s tiamhaidh, trom mo chridhe 'nochd, 
'S mi 'm aonaran bochd leam f^in ; 
Cha 'n iarr mi tàmh, cha 'n fhaigh mi lochd 
Is mi fo sprochd an dùthaich chein. 

'S iomad cuimhne, thiirsach, throm 
Tha dùsgadh fonn a' bhròin a'm' uchd ; 
'S e thog an osnadh ann a'm' chom 
Nach 'eil mi'n Tir-nam-Beann a nochd. 

Tha Tir-nam-Beann mar bha i riamh — 
Gach gleann a's shabh, a's creag nam faobh ; 
An creachan ;\rd 's am bi am fiadh, 
'S an leacann liath tha slos o 'thaobh. 

Tha gach allt a' leum le toirm 
O chreig gu creag a sios gu traigh ; 
Tha bàrr an f hraoich bhadauaich ghuirm 
Gu trom dosrach mar a bha. 

Ach c'àit' am bheil na ciiirdean gràidh 
D'an tug mi baigh an làithean m' òig ? 


'S e f àth mo mhulaid a's mo chràidh 

A mheud 'sa tha dhiubh 'nochd fo'n f hòid. 

M' athair-sa, cha 'n 'eil e beò, 

Mo mhàthair chaomh cha 'n 'eil i ann : 

Dh' f halbh mo cho-aoisean mar cheò, 

A dh' f huadaìchear le gaoth nam beana. 

Slàn le comunn caomh mo ghaoil ! 

'Chuireadh faoilt 'am chridhe bochd ; 

Oha 'n 'eil iad air uachdar an t-sao'il 

■'Dheanadh aobhach mis' an nochd. 

Ach tha iad beò an dùthaich chèin — 

Tìr na grein', gun oidhch' a choidhch' ; 

Coinn'chidh siun fathast a chèLl' 

Gun sùil fo dheui-, gun chridh' a' caoidli. 

Tha àl a' falbh, a's àl a' teachd, 

Mar shìachdaireachd nantonn air tràigh: 

Ar bliadhnachan, Iha iad gu beachd, 

Mar sgeulachd, dhiomhain, ghearr gun stàth. 

Glòir do Shlàn'ear caomh nam buadh, 

A thug a nuas o thìr an àigh 

Sgeul an aoibhneis do'n t-sìuagh, 

Beatha bhuan nach mill am bàs. 

Choìsinn e 'bheatha so gu daor, 

As a thaobh gu'n d' thaom an f huil ; 

Ach O ! cia gràsmhor, fialaidh, saor, 

Do'n chinne-daonn' a h-àgh, 'sa buil. 

Carson a bhithinn brònach, bochd, 

A' caoidh fo sprochd an so leam fèin ; 

Do shùil, a Dhè, tha orms' a nochd, 

Fo dheòruidheachd an dùthaich chèin. 

€ha bhi mi 'caoidh, cha toir mi ceill — 

Fo thaic' do sgeith gu'n iarr mi tàmh ; 

Do d' thoil-sa, Thighearn, bheirinn gèill — 

€a m' striochdadh fèin a choidhch' to d' làimh. 

[The first four pieces following are from the pen of the Rev Dun- 
can M'Lean of Glenorchy, who wrote in the " Gaelic Messen- 
ger " under the signature of " Fior Ghael." Mr M'Lean pre- 
jerred always to compose original poetry to translating. 


'S iomad caochladh a's mughadh, gun siiil riu no fiughair, 
A thachair 'n ar diithaich, mo dhiùbhail ! cho liugha ; 


'S iomadh cleaehd' a chaidh seachad gun cho math thigh'nn n.-i 
'S iomadh dubhailc a chimiich, a's subhailc a bhàsaich, [kite, 

Bha 'tuinneach' 'sna beanntaibh, nan àm a's nan àl so, 
Keusan giulain, a's cainnte gun taing a bha àluinn ; 
Bha snaoni ann, 's bu chruaidh i, nio thruaigh ! 'sgun i 'n tr 
'Ceangal islean a's uaislean an suairceas 'san càirdeiis. [aii' 

Bha 'bhochduinn neo-sghthach 'an làthair na mòrchuis, 
Bha 'n uaisle gun àrdan, a's bàigheil do'n deòraidh ; 
Bha aoidheachd, a's fialachd, a's biatachd gun sòradh ; 
'N an gleannanaibh riabhach, bu chiataiche còmhdach. 

Bu chiatach a' chòisridh 'bha chòmhnuidh 's na beanntaibh, 
Siol fioi'-ghlan, gun f hòtus, ged dli'fhògradh gun taing iad ; 
O'n gleannanaibh Lòidheach gu còmhnard na Galltachd, 
'G am fògradh thar chuantan, rao chruadail ! b'e'n t-ainneart. 

Dh'fhàs a' Ghael'tachd 'na fàsach, gun àiteach, gun tuath- 
Marlion iad 'nan àite an t-àireach 'sam buachaU, [cheatharn, 
Tha 'ur n-ionada'-tàmba 'bu làine, 'sbu chuanda, 
Gun mhire, guu mhànran, — 'n an làraichean uame. 

.\n òige raar shealladh gun mhealladh 'se firinn, 
'N àm dùsgadh 's a' mhaduinn b'e'n tlachd 'san toil-inntinn 
Bhi 'faiciun 's gach gleannan, 'sgach lagan bu dlomhair', 
Mo luchd-gaoil, agus comuiun a thogadh mo chrìdh' dhomli. 

Ged dbìrich mi 'n ti àth so gu iiiridh nan beanntaibh, 
Cha chluinn mi 'ur blàth-gbuth, cha'n fhàiltich sibh ann mi ; 
Cha'n fhaic mi caomh aogasg mo ghaoiltichean aunta, 
'Sann dh'fhògradh, gun aobhar, gu saoghal nan crann iad. 


'S binn caoirean nan caochan 'an aonach nam beann, 
'N uair tha'n latha a' sgaoileadh aiv aodan nan gleann ; 
'S binn osna na gaoithe, 's gur aobhach a toirm 
Air ciìiineach' do'n doininn, 'sair cadal do'n stoirm. 

'S binn co'-sheirm na coille, nan doire, 'snan stùchd, 
'S ro bhlasda an ceòl e 'san òg mhaduinn dhiùchd: 
() ! 's taitneach r"a chluinntinn geuin laoigh tigh'nn o'n chiv 
'S binn gàirich na tuinue, a's bàirich nam bò. 

'S binn naigheachd air caraid chaidh fada air chuaiit, 
'S cha seirbhe guth leannain dh'/hàsbanail a's suairc'; 
'S ro bhlasda guth m;\thar, làn blà'is agus gaoil — 
War chc'òl iad nach àlninn, nach càirdeil, nach caoin ? 


Ach tha ceòl aun is uaisle 'na bhuadhaibh gu mòr, 
'S tha fuaim aim is biune, 's is griiin' air gach dòigh ; 
Tha poncaii is mils' ami, uach diobair gu sior, 
Na gach ceòl 'rinu thu sòlasach 'u oir no au iar. 

Nach milis mar cheòl e, iiach bùidheach, nach binn — 
(jiith chkxg mhaduinn Dhòtnhiiuich, nach sonraichte grinn ? 
Na fuiuii tha ro àluinn 'tha fàilteach' an lò 
A bheaunaich an t Ard-Righ gu slàinte nan slogh. 

Nach binn a' chruit-chiùil ud, nach rùnach gach ial, 
An cridlie trom, brùite ag ùrnuigh ri Dia ? 
Nach taitneach mar clieol e, nach bòidheach, 's nach caoiii 
G uth 'mholaidh, a shòlais, a dhòchais, a ghaoil ? 


A Bhogha ivluinn, ghràsmhoir, òrbhuidh, 
Urrais àird air slàint' a's còuihniidh, 
Biodh t'f hiamh ghair ort an còmhnuidh — 
Seall 'an gràdh orm ri uchd dòruinn. 

'N uair a reubas stoirm an t-athar, 

A' cur nan diiil' air mhire-chatha, 

'N uair 'luidheas oidhch' air uchd an latha, 

Faiceam soillse do gliuùis flilathail. 

Cuir anceill dhomh, 'theachdair' dhlleis, 
Gealladli aoibhneacli Dlie na fii-iiin ; 
Inuis dhomh am briatliraibh mine, 
Chaoidh nach sgriosar sinn le dile. 

Seallam ort a choroin sgiamhaich, 
Mar roi'-earhiis air Mac Dhia dhuinn, 
'Ohleith san fheoil ard ghlòir a Dhiadhachd, 
Ri'n sior sheallam ri ùm diachainu. 

Seallam ort a sheud ro àluinn, 
Mar air teachdair' Righ na slainte, 
'Mheasar leamsa fad mo làitheau 
Mai- an rod gu glòir a's pliras. 

'N uair bha mi 'm leanabh eatrom, gòrach, 
'Dearc' le h-ioghuadh air do bhòichead, 
Dh'innseadh dhomh mar sgeul gun bhòilich 
Na'n glacainn thu gu'm meallainn stòras. 

O raon gu raon 's trie chuir mi 'n ruaig ort, 
Le dòchas baoth gu'n d' thugainn buaidh ort ; 
Ach char a's mheall thu mi ga m' bhuaireadh, 
Mar iomad faileas faoin o'n uaii- sin. 


Ach ged a mheall thu mi a'aj*^ bharail, 
'S nach do chum thu rium do ghealladb, 
Ged a chaochail glJnr do ghathan, 
'S ged a sgaoil iad feadh aji athair, 

Dearcam ort, 's na ceileam nam e, 

'N Ti nach treig mi ri uclid cruadail — 

'N Ti bheir slaiute dhomh a's solas, 

'S leis nach meallar 'chaoidh mi 'm' dhòcbaa. 

*N uau- bhios tuiltean trom air m' anam, 
'S tonnan buaireas a' dol tliaram ; 
Le sùil creidimh riut 'au cùmhnuidh, 
los' ! bi dhomhs' a'd' bhogha dòchais. 


Co dh'innseas dhomh cò dhealbh na saoghail, 
'S ca nèamhan àilt gu h-àrd a sgaoil, 
Oa ceann na talmhainn fhalamh, f haoin ? 

Am Biobuil, 

Co- thug dhomh sgeul air t^ gaeh ni — 
Co thug dhomh bitli, a's cruth, a's brìgb, 
Le mais' a's oirdheirceas gun dith ? 

Am BiobulL 

Co dh'innseas dhomh mar las a' ghriaa 
A lèchrain ghlòrmhor, lasiach, dhian ? 
shiorruidheachd gu bheil thu Dhia ? 

Am BiobulL 

Co dh'innis dhomh gur h-àrd thu, Dhe, 
Os ceann mo smaointean lag gu leir, 
Do ghlùir gu'n lion i talamh 's nèamh ? 

Am BiobulL 

Co thug dhomh sgeul mo chruitheachd fein, 

'S mo cheud staid shon' am paras Dhe, 

M' àrd sraachd os ceann gach ni fo'n ghrein ? 

Am BiobulL 
Co dh'innseas dhomh le dearbhadh fior 
Mar bhris mi'n tiis do thoil, 's do riar, 
'8 mar chaidh air seacha ran o Dhia ? 

Am Biobttl. 


Co dh'innis dliomh mo chor an Iras, 
Gu firinneacli gun bhreug, gun bhaigb, 
'S gach fotus a tha 'm chridhe 'tàmh ? 

Am BiobuU. 

Co 'n sgàthan anns am faic mi fein 

Gach gràinealachd tha 'tàmh a'm' clire, 

'S gach dubhailc f holaieht' tha fo m' sgeith ? 

Am Biobull. 
Co thilg fo smalan mi 's fo bhròn, 
Le bhagraidhibh ro chruaidh a leòn, 
'Shàth saighdean corranach a'm' f heoll ? 

Am Biobull. 

Co, 'n uair shaoil mi a bhi saor, 

A thilg 'an geimhlibh mi, 's an daors', 

A dhruid a steach mi air gach taobh ? 

Am Biobull, 
Co, 'n uair ghlaodh mi ann am chàs, 
A dh'f hosgail bealach dhomh chum slàint', 
A bhris gach cuibhreach dbiom a's sàs ? 

Am Biobull. 
Co, 'nuair a luidh oidhch' le gruaim 
Air uchd m' anama, 's a bheuc cuan, 
A labhair sith ri m' chogais thruaigh ? 

Am Biobull. 
Co thaora gathan grein' a's la 
Air uchd m* anama le caoin dhèars', 
A lion le solus e 's le blàth's Ì 

Am Biobull. 
Co a' chrult a's grinne ceòl ? 
Ciod an sgeul is binne glòir ? 
Ciod an taisg-thigh 's luachmhoir' stor ? 

Am Biobull. 
Co 'sgap an duibhre a's a' mhuig, 
A chlaon, a dhall, 's a mheall mo shizil, 
'S a threòraich mi mar lèchran iùil ? 

Am Biobull, 
Co an tobar fallan, fuar, 
'Chaisg dhomh m' iota 's an an-uair, 
Do m' chridh' thug fionnaireachd gu luath ? 

Am Biobull. 


C'àit' am faigh an coigreach lòn ? 
Am pàiteacb fior-uisge r'a òl 
A blieir an t-anam seargta beò ? 

'Sa' Bhiobull. 

A f bradharc, c'àit'am faigh an dall ? 
Am bacacb leointe lùs nam ball, 
A bbeir gu coiseachd e uach mail ? 

'S a' Bbiobull. 
Cò bheir subhachas do 'n cbrìdh' ? 
Cò bheir misneach dba a's clith ? 
Cò. ged sbeacbd e, bbeir gu brìgh ? 

Am Biobull. 

Cò a shàsaicbeas am bocbd ? 
Cò a cbòmbdalcbeas an nocbd ? 
Cò bheir saorsa o gach locbd ? 

Am Biobull. 
Co bheir air an fhasach cbruaidb 
Teaclid ga ailleacbd agus snuadh; 
A sgaoileas maise air 'bbios buan ; 

Am Biobull. 
Fàilt ort fein a leabhair naoimb ! 
Fàilt ort fein a theacbdair cbaoimh ! 
Fas am meas am bheacbd a cbaoidh. 

A Bbiobuill. 
Am cbluais do cbeòl biodb binn gu bràtb, 
Do m' bblas gu millis biodb gach treth, 
Do theagasg biodh a'm' chridh' gach la, 

A Bbiobuill. 
A'd' sgatban àillidh chunn'cas ihall, 
An Ti mo sbaorsa gbabh os laimh 
An Ti tba seasamh rium an dàimh. 

A Bbiobuill. 
'Agbaidh a'd' sgàthan soilleir reidh, 
Sior dhearcam air, is faiceam e, 
Gus 'na iomhaigh 'n dealram fain. 

A Bbiobuill. 
! gabh do thurus do gach tir, 
Le d' theacbdaireachd is torrail brigb, 
A db' aiseag dhaoin' a dh'ionnsuidh sitb, 

A Bbiobuill. 



Tha 'n Geamhradh air teicheadh o'u Deas chum an Tuatli, 
'S an àite fuaclid feaunach am bias 'faotainn buaidh ; 
'S na buidlmean chlach-mheallain bha sgaiteach o chein, 
Air leaghadh gu tlas ann an deàrsa ua grèiu'. 

Tha 'ghrian nis a' sgaoileadh a gàirdean a mach — 

O'n Ear gns an lar tha 1 'g iarraidh mar theach ; 

'S an t-sòbhrag bha greis uainn a' folach a cinn, 

Le caomh mhais' tha 'hreacadh a' mhonaidh 's na glinn. 

Ach Earraich, ged chaidh uait na baideil air chall, 
'8a dh'f hag iad an Ard-thir a's còrahuard nan Gall, 
Dean faicill mar ghaisgeach, na smuainich air snain, 
Mu'm pill iad mar f hithich a mhilleadh nan uan. 

Tha'n t-airean gun euslain a' reubadh nan cnoc, 

'S a' tiunndadh nan neoinean 'measg ùir anns a' ghlaic ; 

Fear eile gu surdail a' sgapadh an f hrois, 

A gns each a's cliath-chliata nan deann aig a chois. 

Tha bàr-gucag an Fhoghair ag at air a' chraoibh, 
A's lith uain' an Earraich a' sgaoileadh gach taobh ; 
Tha 'n tom-sheangan a' gluasad, 's a' chuileag gu mear, 
A' dannsadh 's a' ghrian-ghath tha 'sineadh o'n Ear. 

Tha'm foghnan a' sineadh a shleaghan a mach, 
Toirt dulan do'n Gheamhradh ris pilleadh gu 'theach, 
Cha 'n ioghnadh leam idir mar chinneas am feur, 
Tha grian anns an linne, 's aon eile 's an speur. 

Tha choill a bha lomnochd a' feadail 's a' ghaoith 
'Ga còmhdach lo duilleach, a's blàthaibh gach taobh. 
Is taitneach an sealladh bhi 'g amharc a suas, 
A's srannan a t-seillein a' seirm ann am chluais. 

'S an àtha na h-eisg tha ri mire gun chlos, 

A' sireadh nan cuileag taobh geal-bhuiune cas ; 

'S beist-donn air sgòrr creige air chrith gu bhi siiios 

An doimhneachd an aigein thoirt bradain a nios. 

Tha ghobhar a' faochnadh ri aodan a' chnaip, 
A' teagasg d'a minnean an ealain air streap ; 
Agus uan a' sior mhireag mu'n cuairt air a' phreas, 
'S a mhàthair ga shireadh mu bhruachaibh an eas. 

Air àrd uilinn Chruachain tha gluasad nan eun, 
Am fitheach, an croman, 's an iolaire threun ; 
'S gu m' chluasaibh tha 'tighinn àrd lagan an fheidh, 
Agus ceòlan na h-ainnir 'si 'leigeil na spreidh. 


Tha ghrian nis air luidhe air Earrach an àigh, 
'S e le aoidh 'dol a liubhairt an ail suas do'n Mhàgh ; 
Chi mi 'n Samhradh a' tighinn, air uilinn nan cam, 
'S gair ait anns na gleannaibh 's an coillo Mhuc-càm ! 


[Chaidh Eachann Ban gu ministear araidh a dh'iarraidh teist- 
eannas. Tl)uirt am ministear ris nach buinneadh e d' a sgir- 
eachd-san, — nach robh eòlas aig' air, agus uime sin nach b'ur- 
rainn e. Ach, ars' esan, tha mi 'faicinn gu bheil thu aosmhor, 
anfhann, agus, do reir coltais, bochd. Dean suidhe tacan, 
agus bheir mi dhuit teisteannas cho maith 's is urrainn domh 
le coinnseas glan. Ann an tiota thug e dha an teisteannas a 
leanas ; agus bu leur a' bhlàth air Eachann o 'n la sin.] 

Tha Fear-iomachair a' phaipeir so fann, 
Mar is dùth dha 's an am 's e cho sean — 
Thromaich aois air le h-iomadaidh bròn 
'Tha rithe fuaighte 's gun dòigh air a chleith : 
Tha na neoil an deigh iadhadh mu'n cuairt — 
Chinn an iannailt ro ghruamach air fad ; 
Agus dhoi'chaicheadh lòchran nam buadh, 
Ail- bheag soluis ach tuaileus fo smal. 

Chaidh luchd-gleidhidh an tighe o fheum 
A chion spioraid, a's speirid, a's lùith ; 
Dh'fhàs na daoine bha spionntach gun chhth, 
'S iad a' cromadh a sios chum na h-ùir': 
Chaidh iad uile gu buileach o stàth 
Seach mar chleachd a's mar bha iad o thus ; 
Tha'n luchd-bleith an duigh sgur o na dh'f has 
lad cho tearc a's a chnàmh iad gu'n cùl. 

Tha na h-uinneagan cruinne b' f hearr dealbh 

Air fas reodanach, seana-bhileach, tuar ; 

'S an luchd-seallaidh bu smearaile colg 

Air an iadhadh le dorchadas buan : 

Tha na dorsan teann druidt' anns gach sraid, 

Agus fuaim na bleith 'ghnà 'del n'is ìsl'; 

Ki e clisgeadh a suas ri guth eoin, 

'S tha gach binneas a's ceòl air bheag pris. 

Dhruid an t-àm 's am bi geilt roi' ni ard, 

ThrCig a' chàileachd a's dh'f hàilnich an gniomh ; 

Tha gach uamhas 's an t-sligh' 'na cheann-làth 

Aig an duiue gu 'chàradh fo fhiamh ; 

Tha 'chraobh-àhnoin a nis fo a blàth, 

Anns a' gheamhradh — tiom ànrach nan sian ; 


'S an leumnach-uaìne na eallach air fàs, 
'N uair a chaochail, 'sa bhàsaich am miann. 

A chionn gu bheil an t-eilthireach truagh 
A' triall gii 'dhachaidh ro bhuaa air bheag dàil ; 
'S au luchd-cumhaidli, 'n àni sgaoileadh o'n uaigh, 
'Dol 'n am buidhnibli mu'u cuairt auns gach sràid : 
'N uair a dh'f huasglar gu buileach an còrd 
Luachmhor airgid — guu seòl air a thà'dh, 
'S nach bi feum ann an soire n'is mò 
Chum an dreuchd gus 'u do shòuraicheadh e. 

'S e so staid a's cor muladach, truagh 

An fhir-thurais — uacli truagh leibh mar thà ? 

Dhruid na bhadhnaibli 's an aidich e 'chùis — 

" Cha'n 'eil tlachd agam annta gu bràch." 

Ach 's e 'mheudaicli a thruaighe gu lèir 

A bhean mar uallach 'na dhèigh 's i 'n droch sldàiut' 

'S ged is duilich gur h-èigiuu da falbh, 

'S iad 'am freasdal ri oirchiosaibh chàich. 

Cha bu struidheas, cion teomachd, no leisg, 

Fhad 's a shealbhaich e neart agus càil, 

'Dh' fhàg cho aimbeirteach, bhochd e, gun treoir, 

Ach toil an Fhreasdail, 's mar dh'òrduicheadh dhà. 

Bha e uair 's cha robh 'ni Muile gu lèum 

Aon duine bu ghèire 's a b' f hearr ; 

Ged is duihch a chòmhdach 's an uairs' — 

Teann air deireadli a chuairt a's a làith'. 

Fhir a leughas, no cliluinneas mo dhàn, 
Bha Eachaun mar tha thu 's au àm ; 
Thoir fainear gu'm faod thus' air bheag dàil 
Martha esan an dràsd bhi — bochd fann : 
Aù- an aobhar sin maoth'cheadh do chridh', 
'S ma tha maoin agad sìn dha do làmli ; 
Cha dean beagau 'thoirt uait deth bonn beud, 
'N uair thiff aois ort a's eucailean bàis. 


Ar beatha tha mar aisling f haoin, 
Mar sgàile faileis air an raon ; 
Mar bhoisgeadh grein' roi' neoil air fair', 
Mar ùrsgeul dìomhain, goirid.^gearr, 
Mar bhadan ceò air bhàrr nam beann, 
No mar chloich a' ruith le gleann ; 
Mar shaigliead luath o'n taifid reith, 
O'n bhogba luaiueach 'n làimh an trèin ; 


Mar bliogha frois roi' bhraonaibh tlàth, 
Mar neonaiu ùr is alllidh blàth ; 
Mar pheileir teine 'ruith roi'n speur, 
'S an ath-shealladh dbeth nach leur ; 
Mar neoil na h-oidbche 'theid 'n an luatb's 
'N'uair dli'eireas grian an àigb a suas ; 
Mar latba gpaiuhraidh air bbeag speis, 
Mar lend boise, no fad reis ; 
Mar sbligbe luinge air a' cbuau, 
Mar cbobbar aibbne nach bi buan, 
Ar beath' tha 'ruith mar so gu luath, 
Gun stad, gun fhois gu bàs a's uaigh ! 


[rha na tobraichean so aiumeil air son iomad buagh. Thadaoiue 
<» gach cearnn do'n t-saoghal r'am faotainn 'sa' choimhearsnaclid 
■sam bheil lad, aE:òl do na h-uisgeachaa a tha 'ruitb uapa. Tha 
IMorair ainmeil 'san t Suain do'n robh na tobraichean so air am 
beannaihadh chum a shlùiut' aiseasr, 'n iiair a bha e, do reir col- 
tais, air leabaidh a bhàis. Mar chuiuihneachan air a' mhòr 
t hcum a f huair e uapa, chuir e suas carragh eireachdail, agus 
air gach taobh dheth Khrùbhail e ranuan moladh do na tob- 
raichean so. ;'S ann an Laidinn' a sgriobh e so air tùs, ach na 
dheigh sin dh'fheuch e r'an eadar-theangachadh gu gach ciin- 
ain air an t-saoghal air am b' urrainn da ruigheachd. Chuir e 
lios do Oil-thigh Dhuneidinn dh'fheuch am b' urrainn doibh an 
cadar-theangachadh gu Gaelic. Dh'earb iadsan a' chùis ris an 
Olla Tormaid Macleoid, agus thug esan doibh an teadr-theang- 
achadh a leanas.] 

A Thobair luachmhoir air an luaidh gach bard, 
< !ia as tha blàth's do shruthaibh 'teachd an aird? 
Na cuislean pronnasg anns am bheil a' bhuaidh, 
'S am beò aol siubhlach ann a'd' shruthaibh luath ? 
A m faod e bhith gu bheil do theas a' teachd 
O'n teine choitcheann a tha 'n Etna steach ? 
Tha Tobar-ionnlaid am Bahia cein, 
'H-aon 'an Ismàris le Antenor treun, 
Tha tobar eile 'sàillidh, ylan an loiun, 
A' ruith gu bras mu bhruachaibh gorm na Rhine ; 
Tobraiche priseil 'choisrigeadh a chaoidh, 
Le'bàsrigh Tearlach, ceanuard àrd nan saoidh. 
Ach CO an taon 'u am measg iad sud gu brkth 
A dh'fheudta choiraeas riutsa, 'thobair àigh ? 
Faic caochan aillidh — faic e 'leum fo chraoibh, 
Faic snuadh a dbathan air gach cloich r'a thaobh ; 


Gach dòirneag mheanbh a tha 'na chlais gu leir, 
Le'n clreach thu2 bar air bogha ard nan speur! 
Siubhail gu siubhlach, bras, a thobair igh, 
A's aisig slàinte, 's cail do dh'iomadh al. 
Thigeadh an t-aosd' g'a ionnlad fein a'd'Jshruth, 
A's gheibh e buaidh dh'ath-nuadhaicheas a chnath'; 
Thigeadh òigh lag gu tobar blath nam buadh, 
A's pillidh 'u geal 's an dearg a ris na giuaidh. 
Thigeadh gach tinn, gach deòraidh lag, 's gach fann, 
A's gheibh iad slàinte, 's faochadh nach bi gann ; 
Pillidh iad ait o d' shruthaibh fallan, aigh, 
'Toirt cliii do'n Ti chuir buaidh a'd' chuislibh bliith ! 

L A I D H . 

'Thriath nam buadh! tha'n cruinne 'luaidh do ghlùir, 
Do mhaitheas pailt, do ghliocas ceart 's do threòir ; 
Tha iolach graidh o bheanntaibh ard 's o'n chuan, 
'S o àird nan speur le caithream eibhinn, buan. 
8 Tu chroch gu h-ard na speuran 's aillidh sgiamh, 
'N an guirme bhòidh'ch, le'n reultaibh 's òrail fiamh. 
Tha fiamh an lò o'n ghrein is òirdheirc soills'; 
Tha 'ghealach sheimh 'cur sgail air neulna h oidhch'; 
Bidh'n saoghal ait le fiamh na maidue ciùiu, 
'S le liaoibhneas ait bheir teachd an fheasgair cliii, 
Do d' àithn' tha geill nan gaoth gu seideadh dian, 
A's ceannsachd thonn 'am boile throm nan sian. 
Tha iomlain nàduir 'dealradh agh do ghlòir, 
'S do mhaitheas graidh cha traoigh gu bràch d'ar coir. 
Thig uisge pailt le bhraonaibh feartar, tlath, 
'Ni'm fàsack ait f'o luisreadh reachdmhor blath, 
Thig arbhar tiom air slios nam foun ; 's a' ghrian 
Gu'm faic an dithreabh 'fas le mile miagh ; 
Fo bhraonaibh tlath ni 'n f haiche 's fàsmhoir' siol 
'An cuairt gach bliadhna pailteas fial a dhiol, 
Cnuic 's cluaintean fas tha dreachte 'n àilleachd nuadli, 
Fo chòmhdach feùir is urail, eibhinn snuadh ; 
Na treudan trie le gean air slios nan cluan, 
'S gach fàs-HÌt' ùr tha 'labhairt cliù gu buan. 

O 'Thriath nam buadh ! tha'n cj-uinne 'luaidh do ghlnir-, 
Do mhaitheas pailt, do ghliocas ceart 's do threòir ; 
'S gach cearn ge' cian mu'n dealraich grian le h-iùl, 
Le ioghnadh ait mud' ghlòir gu'n dearc gach sùil ; 
Air oibi-ibh nàduir shoillsich fiamh le baigli, 
Ach àird a mais' tha 'd' theampull feartar, àigli ; 
O mhaitheas griiis 'bheil glòir a's àirde buaidh, 
'S ard chliii gun chrioch 'an aoibhneas sior 'ga luaidh. 



Bu from-shàmhach, tosdach bha 'bhuaOe 'san t-achadh, 

C'h.a chualas aon fharum, no gluasad ni's mo ; 

Ach a' chuairt-ghaoith ag osnaich air feadh nam beann dosach, 

A's borbhan nam bras-uisg' ri monmhor roi' loin : 

Sguir driop agus carraid. agus gleadhraich a' bhaile, 

Chaidli gach ainmhidh a's duine gu sùmhchair a's sitb ; 

Pguir an uiseag d'a h-òran, bha tosd air an smeòraich, 

'S chaidh an treabhaiche dhachaidh gu h-airsnealach, sgith. 

Bha 'ghealach air eiridh, a's gorm-bhrat nan speuran 
A' dealradh le reultan cho fad 'sa bu leur ; 
Bha buach'Iean Bhetlehem air mullach nan sleibhtean 
A' faire an treudan mu'n eireadh dhoibh beud : 
Leo b'eibhinn an sealladh, ri fanu-ghath na gealaich, 
Bhi 'faicinn na spreidhe 'n an luidh' air an f heur ; 
Leo bu mhilis bhi 'g eisdeachd na spideig air geugan, 
A' seinn do na reultan bha 'deah-adh 's an speur. 

Ach chunnaic iad sealladh a b'èibhinne gu fada 
Mu'n d' thàinig a' mhaduinn a' dealradh 's an speur ; 
A's chual' iad guth molaidh bu mhilse gun choimeas 
JCa oran na spideig 'na suidh' air a' ghi'ig : 
Feuch thàinig orr' aingeal a dh'innis dhoibh naigheachd, 
'S ghrad fhuadaich e 'n t-eagal bha orr' aig an am ; 
Dhealraich glòir Dhc uim', mar lòchran bha 'eudann, 
'S bu ghile bha 'eudach na sneachda nam beann. — 

" Na bitheadh oirbh eagal, ach eisdibh le creideamh, 

'S na cuiribh an teagamh an sgeul th'agam dhuibh ; 

'N diugh rugaibh dhuibh Slan'ear 'am baile righ Daibhidh, 

'Rheir saors' agus slaint' do gach àl agus linn : 

'S a chum a's nach seachainn sibh naoidhean na maise 

Thugaibh aire do'n dels' air an aithnich sibh e ; 

Gheibh sibh e 'm prasaich, 'am brat-speillidh paisgte — 

'Sin còmhdach gun mhòrchuis, neo-rìomhach Mhic Dhè ! " 

Cha luaithe a thubhairt an t-aingeal so riutha 

Na chual iad 's na speuran mòr luathghair ro bhinn ; 

'S air togail an sùilean feuch a nuas orra thùirling 

Mòr chuideachd thar cunntais do ainglibh a' seinn : — 

" Glòir do Dhia anns na h-ardaibh — Dhh, cauaibh Hosana ! 

Air talamh biodh sith, agus deadh-ghean do dhaoin' ! 

TJil' onair biodh a dhealbh innleachd slainte ! 

Gràs Dè, trid an t-Slàn'ir cha chaochail a chaoidh." 

Printed by A. Sinclair, 62 Argyle Street, Glasgow.